


Bee in the Bonnett

by NotTasha



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:24:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3813823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotTasha/pseuds/NotTasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A newly discovered interesting piece of technology is found.  It turns out to be a personal transportation device and it causes a bit of trouble for Rodney, when an unpleasant letter also makes an appearance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bee in the Bonnett

**Author's Note:**

> SEASON: Sometime during the 1st Season, before "The Storm"  
> DISCLAIMERS: The characters, setting, etc, all belong to Sony, MGM, Gecko, the Sci-Fi Channel  
> NOTE: This was my first foray into this fandom. I confess that I hadn't watched too much StarGate:SG1 when I wrote this. And some of the facts used in my stories were later proven to be incorrect. I'm not to worried about it. I am starting to upload my SGA stories now to this website, so this is where I'm starting.  
> SPOILERS: Some small ones for "Hide and Seek", and probably others too that I can't remember.  
> DATE: Written November 13, 2004

PART 1: POCKETS

"Well, where is it?" Dr. McKay asked impatiently as he leaned on the lab's smooth counter.

"Hang on," Lt. Ford muttered as he pulled gloves, binoculars and, ammunition from his pack. "It's in here somewhere." The young soldier furrowed his brow as he sought.

They'd just returned from a mission, finding a world that may have had a thriving community at one time, but the place had since been reduced to ruin. They'd surveyed the area, finding it hospitable and perhaps capable of growing crops, but no current habitation. There was little of use to be found – if worthwhile technology had once existed, it was long ago looted. McKay had made a valiant attempt to track down anything of interest, but it was Ford who had lucked upon the one little device worth recovering - one precious little device that was currently lost again.

McKay released a long-suffering sigh and hunched further. "It has to be in there somewhere, Lieutenant. I clearly remember you taking it. In fact, I can well remember you stating that you wouldn't lose it." And he tapped his foot in irritation.

"Oh, I didn't lose it," Ford assured, hoping he was speaking the truth. Under his breath, he muttered, "Come on, bee. Where are you?" He upended the pack, letting the remaining bits fall onto the counter, gaining a scowl from McKay.

"Oh, this is wonderful," Rodney grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Now, you're leaving my workspace in shambles."

"It isn't any worse than your desk," Aiden said somewhat petulantly.

"But at least I know where everything is," McKay responded. "Ask me for anything. I can put my hand to it in a minute. There's a place for everything and everything is in its place." He spoke the line as if it were Gospel. "Go ahead, ask."

Ford shook his head, not biting. "I'm just trying to find that bee."

"The device we're looking for isn't a bee," Rodney chided. "There would be no bees on that planet. No form of insect appears to exist there, thank goodness." He cringed at the thought of insects. "The planet manages quite handily without them. For instance, pollination is performed solely by wind, as evidenced by the shape of the seed pods we encountered. But I'm no botanist, and in any case, I've never been fond of that particular insect. I'm deathly allergic."

Ford said nothing, making his way through his loot.

Rodney continued, oblivious to anything outside his current line of information. "It's fascinating, actually. The seedpods we encountered appear to have some sort of sail or parachute. Rather remarkable when you consider that this haphazard means of pollination seems to satisfy their ecosystem. Of course, I wouldn't want to be anywhere near that place in springtime." And the physicist shuddered visibly at that thought. Already he felt a sneeze coming on in commiseration.

"It looked like a bee," Ford went on. "My grandmother has a brooch like that. She has bees and bugs and lizards. She pins them on her coat for Sundays." He chuckled. "But if a real bug were to land on her, watch out!"

Rodney winced, not caring much for that idea either. His attention returned to the soldier's search and he asked unhappily, "You didn't lose it, did you?"

"No," Ford said firmly. "It's here. I know it is."

"Is it in any of your jacket pockets?" McKay asked, feeling his own pockets in case he'd managed to procure the object unconsciously.

Ford dutifully checked his pockets again, even though he'd gone through them once already. After finishing his own search, McKay exclaimed, "Outside compartments! Have you checked the outside pockets of your pack?" He waggled a finger at the emptied pack.

"No, sir," Ford replied. "I never use them."

"Never use them?" Rodney returned, exasperated. "But, Lieutenant, they're so useful. I'm always using the pockets to organize things. Look," and he picked up his own pack, which had been resting on the opposite counter. "I have the life-sign detector in this pocket, power scanning device over here, instant nourishment here, sample bags on the left. You probably put it in one of those outside sections without even thinking about it. I use mine all the time. I can't see why you don't. Really, Lieutenant, you should." 

"I'll check," Ford conceded with a shake of his head. The pockets on his pack were flat, showing no signs of ever holding anything, but he'd humor the doctor. It was easier than listening to him go on about the usefulness of pockets. He unzipped them, one at a time and felt within, giving McKay an expression that told him that he was finding exactly what he expected – nothing. It was only once he opened the last pocket, that his hand touched something.

"See!" McKay exclaimed, seeing the change in Ford's demeanor. "You did find something, didn't you?"

Curiously, Aiden pulled out a piece of paper – an envelope. He turned it over in his hand and smiled. "It's a letter."

"Letter?" McKay cocked his head. "Well, it just goes to show that you DO use the pockets. You should just utilize them more often."

"I've never seen it before." The soldier held it up, showing that it was addressed simply to FORD in block letters. "Must've been in here since before we came to Atlantis."

McKay frowned. "It wouldn't have anthrax in it or anything?"

Ford snorted and shook his head. "One way to find out." He opened it, and he pulled out several pages from within the envelope. McKay cautiously stepped back, but no mysterious white powder fell. Instead, Ford smiled broadly. "It's from Dodge."

"Dodge?" McKay still kept his distance.

"Yeah, Dodge. He's a friend of mine. Worked in Antarctica – Lt. Roger Murphy."

"Ah!" McKay brightened. "Lt. Murphy. Yes, I remember him well. Rather intelligent fellow. He assisted me with projects on several occasions." The Canadian smiled, remembering. "Oh, he didn't always get things right the first time – but he persevered. That's what matters. I rather enjoyed working with him, once he figured out what to do. He seemed to appreciate whenever I supplied him with added information on a subject. Always eager to learn more." Inquisitively, Rodney asked, "How did the letter get in your pack?"

"He must've hid it before I left. Funny guy. Ha…" and Aiden paused as he read.

"What? What does it say?"

Gamely, Ford read aloud from his letter. "Hey, Skippy…" and he paused to give McKay a look, wondering if he should have just skipped that part.

"Skippy?" the physicist responded dryly.

"Long story…" Ford muttered unhappily.

"Interestingly enough, you don't strike me as a 'Skippy'."

"It was a joke. Hasn't anyone ever given you a nickname like that?"

Rodney's lips twitched, as he changed the subject. "Well, it could be worse. I suppose he's called Dodge because his first name is Roger? Roger Dodger? Hmm, inventive," he stated sarcastically.

Ignoring the comment, Ford read on, "By the time you get this, you'll either be on the adventure of a lifetime – or dead. Personally, I like the first choice and hope you're having a hell of a time."

McKay snorted and started poking around in the items Ford had left on the counter. He picked up an empty MRE bag to dispose of it when he paused, feeling that something was still inside. Dessert maybe?

"That's it!" Ford declared, pointing at the bag. "It's in there. I remember now, I was just finished with lunch when I found the bee."

McKay sighed loudly. "So you safely stored it in garbage?"

"Cushioning?" Ford tried, and smiled as McKay turned over the bag and out fell the object of their search. "See?" Ford smiled triumphantly.

McKay grunted, as dropped the bag into a garbage receptacle and examined the device in the palm of his hand. It did rather look like a bee, he decided – with transparent disks that might have been wings and odd purple and green stripes, possibly a body and a knob at one end that resembled a head. Curious. But of course, if it were to represent something along the lines of an Apis mellifera, the 'wings' didn't seem to be in quite the right position. 

Shaking his head, Ford let himself smile with relief. He hadn't lost it after all! He'd been rather proud of himself for being the only one to find something worthwhile on that planet. Returning to the letter, he went on, "Dodge says that they had a bet about who be chosen to go to Atlantis. I was the odds on favorite. Imagine that."

"Yes, imagine it," McKay repeated as he set up his equipment. The 'bee' has yet to 'light up'. He loved it when things lit up. The ancients were wonderful that way – something lights up and you know it's working. Simple and beautiful. "It couldn't have come from that world since it is rather insect-shaped while the planet is insect-free." 

"Dumb ass," Ford griped, and then looked up when McKay gave him a surprised look. "Oh… Dodge. He stole some of the MREs from our supplies before they were sent over."

"He did?" McKay responded, stricken. "We were depending on those food supplies. The nerve of some people! He might have taken some spaghetti and meatball dinners or the macaroni and cheese! Almost as good as Kraft Dinner!" And he salivated in loving memory of the long gone dinners.

"Oh wait... wait…" Ford continued. "He just took out a couple boxes so that there'd be room for more chocolate."

McKay nodded, positioning the bee within the scanner. "He's a good man. I always knew that about him." 

A chirp at his headset stopped Ford from going any further. "Ford here," he responded, and listened for a moment before he replied, "I'll be right there." He spoke to the doctor, "I've been called to the Gateroom."

"Something I should know about?" McKay asked, not looking up from his work.

"No, sir. Just another team coming in with some supplies."

"Anything good? Maybe some sort of coffee substitute? Something sweet? We really should start checking out planets based on their confections, you know that, Lieutenant?"

Ford chuckled. "I'll let you know what they bring," he responded and then glanced at the mess he'd left on the counter. "I'll come back to clean this up, okay?"

"Yes, yes you will," was McKay's reply as he fiddled with the controls, hardly paying Ford any attention.

Setting the letter on top of the mound, Ford stated, "If you're interested, you can read the rest of the letter. I mean, since you know the guy and all. Bet he wouldn't mind."

"Sure… sure…" McKay returned distractedly, interested in the readouts that were appearing on his screen.

Ford turned and left, leaving the doctor to his work.

 

PART 2: RUSSIANS

"Major Sheppard?"

John looked up from his book, happy for any interruption in the comings and goings of the Rostov Family and the Bolkonsky princesses. "Ford," he greeted with a smile, as the soldier stepped within his room. Then he noted the distraught look on the Lieutenant's face. "What's up?"

"I found this letter," Aiden began and paused as he held up the missive.

"A letter?" John brightened. "We're getting mail service now?"

"No… no," Ford sighed. "I found it in my pack. It'd been there since we got here and… well… I was reading some of it to Doctor McKay and…"

"Reading to McKay?" Sheppard smiled, trying to imagine it. "Hope he wasn't correcting the grammar or your pronunciation or…"

"No!" Ford cut Sheppard off with enough intensity to startle the Major. "No… it's …." He shook his head unhappily. "I screwed up!"

"What about?" Sheppard set aside the book.

Ford groaned and explained, "I was called away, so I left the letter. I told Dr. McKay that he could finish reading it if he wanted. I'd only read as far as the first page and he seemed interested. He knew Roger, the guy who wrote it – liked him," and Ford paused a moment. "I was gone for about an hour. I came back to clean up my stuff." With a disgusted sigh, Ford shoved the letter at Sheppard. "That's when I read the rest of it."

"What?" John queried as he grabbed the pages.

"Just read it starting there," Ford stated, pointing to a spot halfway down the second page.

Sheppard took the pages, glad to look at anything that didn't have to do with Russians and their unpronounceable names. He read where Ford had indicated. "Hope things are working out for you in the Pegasus galaxy, but honestly, I wouldn't give that problem to a monkey on a rock. I heard who else was going. Stuck in Antarctica is bad enough, but being trapped for all eternity with McKay sounds like inhumane treatment. Doesn't the Geneva Convention have something to say about that?" John stopped and gazed up at Ford. "McKay read this?" he asked.

Ford grimaced. "I left the letter on my things. When I came back, it was in the garbage. I only found it when I was cleaning up. Read the rest." He shook his head woefully. "It gets worse."

With a tight expression, John continued the letter in silence. "The worst days of my life were when I had to work with him. He explains EVERYTHING to me, as if I give a damn about anything he has to say. Calls himself a genius, yet can't figure out that NO ONE gives a rat's ass about anything he has to say."

John groaned and Ford bowed his head as the Major continued to read, "You should hear Red. He does the best impression – got that whiney, superior tone just right. It gets me to laughing when I hear McKay himself. I have to pretend to sneeze to cover up. He thinks I have allergies! LOL. He thought we had some common ground… like I'd ever want to be like him. He can have his goddamn genius. I'd rather stick around human beings. I hate sucking up to that pissy bastard. I can't think of one person on base who can stand him. If you're lucky he'll choke on a lemon on his first day. Things will get a lot brighter for everyone after that. Good luck with that."

The letter changed topics and John raised his eyes to meet Ford's. "This is a friend of yours?" he asked incredulously.

Ford muttered, "I guess I didn't know him at all."

Sheppard slapped the pages against one hand and muttered, "Crap."

"What do we do?" Ford asked.

"We?" Sheppard responded, lifting an eyebrow.

"I can't go up to him and say, 'Doctor McKay, about that letter…'" Ford explained, spreading his arms in exasperation. 

Sheppard nodded. "Yeah, bet McKay won't be much fun to be around for awhile." John jabbed the papers back at Ford. Nikolay Rostov and Prince Andrey would have to wait for another day. "He wasn't in the lab?"

"No, at least not in HIS lab."

"I'll see if I can find him," John resolved as he stood. "He'll get over it," Sheppard promised. "But, I figure I could talk to him a bit."

"Thanks," Ford responded, shoving the sheets back into his pocket. "I really feel bad about this."

"Pick better friends next time," John muttered as he prepared to leave the room.

 

PART 3: 10 METERS or 32.8 FEET

Sheppard stopped at the Rodney's lab first, looking for any sign of McKay. He paused at the physicist's room, knocked and called the doctor's name, but there was no response. It was possible that McKay was sulking within his quarters. He considered using the ATA gene to force open the locked door, but instead decided to look elsewhere first. If the man wanted to be alone, Sheppard wasn't about to intrude.

He meandered about the complex, checking on the more of the known labs, thinking that McKay might have wanted some space. As he looked, John tried to figure out what he was going to say to the man. "About the letter…" no… that wouldn't do. It would probably be best to say nothing about the thing, he decided. Just talk to McKay a bit, make sure that he was okay.

Hell, of course, he'll be okay. McKay was a big boy – he didn't need any coddling. He'll be fine. But Sheppard realized that the words would have put McKay in an unpleasant mood – and nobody wanted to be around that. He was searching for McKay to ensure that the rest of Atlantis wasn't left to feel the wrath of an unhappy genius. There was nothing quite so obnoxious as McKay in a truly surly mood – everyone would pay the consequences. 

Aw, but it wasn't that, was it? Sheppard thought as he strode down one of the long hallways, out into one of the lesser-used arms of the complex. John just wanted to check on his friend – make sure he wasn't too depressed or out of sorts – wanted to make Rodney feel a bit better about himself. That wouldn't be too hard, would it?

Sheppard sighed, and girded his loins… ready for a struggle as he rounded yet another corner, toward one of the exposed balconies.

He wasn't prepared for the sight that met him.

"Major!" McKay called, spotting Sheppard at the same time that John saw him. He was standing near the railing that overlooked the ocean. "Come here… you really must see this!"

Sheppard strolled in cautiously, wondering at Rodney's good mood. The ear-to-ear grin was certainly not what he expected. "McKay," he greeted guardedly.

If Rodney noted Sheppard's careful tone, he made no notice of it. "Look! Do you know what this is? Do you have any idea what this is?" and McKay held out something in his hand.

"It's that thing Ford found," John replied, recognizing the odd gewgaw and wondering what sort of bee McKay had in his bonnet this time. "Except it's glowing now."

"Yes, exactly," Rodney replied. "I was able to activate it. It was really rather simple once I realized…" and he paused, making a face as he cut off his sentence and restarted. "Do you have any idea what it does?"

"Ah," Sheppard pondered and then shrugged. "I suppose old ladies wear things like that."

McKay snorted and said, "Hardly…" and he looked up at Sheppard, grinning. "Watch this." McKay held up the pin with one hand and squeezed it with the other. And he was gone.

Simple as that. There was a strange "Shrumph" sound, and the astrophysicist disappeared. "Rodney!" Sheppard shouted, darting out one hand to feel the space where Rodney had been a moment ago – nothing but air. "McKay! Rodney? Where?" A tap on his shoulder, and John spun around to face the gleeful doctor. "What the hell?" he shouted at the overly-happy Canadian.

"A personal portable transporter system!" McKay declared, holding the device between finger and thumb.

Fascinated, John reached toward the device in McKay's hands, but the scientist snatched it out of his reach. "How's it work?" Sheppard asked, his eyes still on the device.

"Pretty good, actually," Rodney returned, smiling still, tipping back to his heels.

"Come on…" Sheppard returned, grinning too. It was hard not to be infected by the doctor's good mood. And the possibilities of such a device were astounding. "That little bit transported you?"

"Instantaneous, as far as I can tell." He held the device before him, nodding as he spoke. "It doesn't have the range of an Asgard transporter. No, not by any stretch. It's range appears to be about 10 meters."

"About 30 feet?"

McKay sighed his face pale and sweaty with excitement as he spoke, "If I had meant 30 feet, I would have said '30 feet,' wouldn't I? 30 feet is about 9 meters. Whereas 10 meters is approximately 33 feet."

"32.8 feet actually," John corrected.

"I was rounding up," Rodney clarified.

"I was rounding down to 30 feet," John added. "Come on, how did it do that?"

Rodney shrugged. "I can't completely explain it, at least not yet. I must do more study." He tipped his head thoughtfully, as he considered exactly how the thing might function and where he might commence his next line of research. "Truthfully, it goes against everything I know. The fact that something this small functions at all is amazing -- but it works." He shook his head in wonder. "Makes me a bit thirsty, though. You wouldn't happen to have any water on you?"

John shrugged, lifting his hands from his sides. "Not on me, no."

"I'd better find some soon," Rodney commented, carefully holding the 'bug' in his hands. "I wish we had brought some Dr Pepper to Atlantis. I could really go for a can of that right now. That and Mr. Pibb. I really used to like Mr. Pibb. High caffeine content. Can't get it most places. Think anyone brought some here?"

"Not that I know of," Sheppard responded sharply, holding out his hand. "Come on, hand it over. I want to try it out."

Rodney kept his hand around the device, for a moment longer, then tipped it into Sheppard's outstretched palm, too excited about the discovery not to share it. "It really is amazing. I was thinking about calling it a PPTS for 'Personal Portable Transporter System', but the 'bee' is easier."

"Bee?" Sheppard held it to his face. "Guess it does kinda look like a bee. You come up with that?"

"Ah," McKay paused and then admitted, "It was Lt. Ford who first mentioned the resemblance."

John grimaced. "I thought I told him he wasn't allowed to name things anymore. Do you think the personal transporter will only function for one person, like your personal shield?"

McKay shook his head. "I don't think so. I did a bit of research on it and was able to find a line or two concerning it in the ancient texts. It's Ancient Technology – no doubt there. Someone must have dropped it at some point on that planet, but it truly is fascinating because…" and he stopped again before restarting and stating, "It should work for more than one user."

"What happened to it?" John asked.

Stymied, McKay asked, "What happened to what?"

"That glowing green turtle… the personal shield. You ever figure out how to recharge it?"

"Interesting that you should say that," McKay leaned forward, as if whatever he was saying was the most interesting matter possible. "I found a unit in the lab that seems to be designed as a re-charger of some sort. I've been trying to get it to reenergize the personal shield, but it doesn't seem to be doing the trick. It's curious because the texts seem to indicate that it should work. I just haven't been able to initialize the correct sequence. Possibly it …" He stopped, then said abruptly. "What's important is…" And he jabbed a finger at the bee in Sheppard's hand. "…this thing works!"

Sheppard examined the device. "So, how do I get it to transport me?"

"Oh, you just press the transparent disks inward and…"

A roaring sound filled Sheppard's ears as he held in the 'wings' of the device and felt as if he'd been lifted off his feet – flying. The sensation quickly ended as he was dropped. The next thing he knew, he was struggling on the floor, atop a body that was wildly flailing its arms and legs.

"Get off me! Get off!" McKay demanded as he shoved at the pilot.

Surprised, Sheppard found himself on the floor, with McKay struggling to get out from under him. Trying to get his bearings, he rolled, managing to get out of the embarrassing position in spite of McKay's thrashing.

"For the love of God!" McKay cried. "Why'd you do that?"

Sheppard jumped to his feet, and with a startled sound. "Why the hell did that happen?"

Frustrated, Rodney brushed at his shoulders and scowled as he sat up. "Because you didn't listen to my instructions."

"Yeah, well," John shrugged one shoulder. "I was afraid the explanation was going to get rather long winded."

Rodney harrumphed, not speaking immediately. Sheppard's comment seemed to flummox the scientist for a moment. McKay covered, using the time to get to his feet. "Well, sometimes it pays to listen," he muttered petulantly.

Realizing the shortness of his comment, John asked with a lighter tone, "So what happened? Why'd I end up running headlong into you?"

After a frustrated sigh, McKay explained, "When you are pressing on the disks…" and he paused to lift a finger at Sheppard as if he expected the pilot to go off 'half-cocked' again. "You must also focus on where you want to go."

"Oh," John returned. "A mental component."

"Yes, a mental component. It could also have something to do with the ATA gene, but that's not important right now. The mental component is! That's why you ended up on top of me. You were talking to me at the time, so your focus was on me and then… whamo!" and he slapped his hands together for emphasis

"I see. So, it's always a good idea to think about where you're going before you start."

"Always a good plan," McKay continued. "Well, this little … embarrassment… did teach us one important fact … besides the 'listen to what Rodney says' thing."

"What's that?" John asked as he picked at the glowing device and dropped it again in his palm, enjoying the weight and shape in his hand.

"Apparently, it has some sort of a failsafe that keeps you from hurting yourself. You're not going to reconstitute inside something solid."

"Like you?" Sheppard nodded in understanding. "Otherwise, since I was talking to you at the moment…listening to you…" John clarified. "I might have ended up… materializing inside of you?"

"It wouldn't have been comfortable."

"Not for either of us," John commented and both men cringed at the idea. "Thank God for failsafes…"

"Yay, verily," Rodney responded.

"How'd you figure it out what it did? Researching those ancient texts?"

McKay returned a childish smile. "Actually, I activated it purely by accident. I'd managed to turn it on." And he waved a hand to get past the explanation. "And was in my lab, holding it, thinking that I'd really rather be in my room, and the next thing I knew ... shrumph … I was standing in my quarters."

"It's just off the lab…" John continued. "So you were within the 30 foot limit."

"Exactly. Now you can imagine my shock? So, a bit belatedly, I admit, I started doing some research here because I then recalled I'd read about a device capable of acting as a personal transporter."

John squeezed down on the wings and imagined himself standing by the railings. With a rush of sound, the world seemed to change around him and he ended up exactly where he imagined. "Too cool," he murmured as he took in his new view of the world.

"Yeah… cool…" McKay conceded, as he glanced about frantically at the spot where John and been, then turned to find him. He gave Sheppard a perturbed look. "Okay," Rodney continued, "So I was…"

And John clutched the device again, focusing about 30 feet down the corridor and the doctor was cut off mid-sentence as the world seemed to de-constitute again and reform at his new location.

"This is great, McKay," John said with a laugh. He tried again, materializing further down the hallway, then further. He looked toward McKay and saw him grinning lopsidedly at him. He took a step toward the scientist. Then, with a smile, he stopped and zapped himself closer, and then closer, finally reaching the doctor again in a series of leaps. "Okay, that's fun," Sheppard declared.

"Yeah, yeah, it's endless fun," Rodney told him, "But it's my turn again, so hand it over."

"Can you transport through something?" John asked, nodding to the wall beside them. "Get to the other side?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "As long as you think clearly about where you want to go, even if you're not sure about what's there, you should be able to…"

John didn't hear the rest of what McKay was saying. With a 'shrumph', daylight and the chattering physicist were turned to darkness and quiet. John grinned, and turned about in the blackened room. "Oh, this is so cool," John muttered, aware that he hadn't yet found a better descriptor for the thing.

He stepped forward in the darkness and slammed into something. "Damn it," he grumbled, pressed against a counter or a chair or some sort of unfathomable ancient technology. Maybe they'd found a new room – filled with incredible, almost indecipherable wonders!

Light suddenly flooded the space as a door was thrown open and Rodney peered in at him. "Major," he said tiredly, "Would you come out of there? Or do you need a moment of privacy?"

Sheppard let out a grumble as he stepped out of the bathroom and back into the hallway. "You know, you're right. It does make me thirsty." John smacked his lips, feeling a dryness to his mouth.

"It possibly has a dehydrating effect," Rodney realized. "I believe the transportation somehow leaves behind a… residue...water... whatever."

"Getting a bit hungry, too," Sheppard added.

McKay nodded. "Exactly! I was going to say the same thing. I think it's making me a bit light-headed."

"That'd be the manly hunger," John told him, getting a disgusted look from McKay in return. "How many times have you used this thing?" John asked.

"A few times," Rodney responded without really answering. "It's all in the name of science and research!" he quickly defended, then leaned upon the railing feeling suddenly weary. "Come on, give it back."

"Aw, you've been playing with it for an hour now. I want a chance." And Sheppard held the device mockingly away from Rodney. When McKay didn't pursue, John glanced at it and decided, "It doesn't seem to be glowing quite so brightly anymore."

"Possibly running low on power," Rodney told him.

"Think we need to stop using it?" John asked, knowing that his voice betrayed him – because, damn it, he wanted to play with it some more.

"We're researching… still researching," McKay told him, with a smile.

"I like that kind of research," John told him. "So, you find out anything else we need to know about this thing?"

"Not much beyond the fact that it was used as an emergency means of escape."

"But it's only good for 30 feet?"

"Well, I suppose it could get you out of a prison cell. Or, if you're being attacked, it would be enough to get behind your attackers."

"Ah, so it could be used both as a means of defense and offense." Sheppard nodded, understanding. "Pretty clever."

"It can be used for rescue. Someone could transport to where a captive is being held and get him out of there."

"It can handle more than one person?" John asked.

"According to the texts, it was designed with that in mind. The Ancients were really quite concerned about rescuing captives. Fascinating really, because…" and Rodney stopped again.

Sheppard grimaced, realizing finally why McKay kept cutting himself off. That damn letter. Rodger Dodger and his poison pen … "Look, McKay… about that letter."

McKay's face went a shade paler. "What? What letter?"

"That one that Ford had… listen… you know that guy was full of crap, don't you?"

"Of course. Of course. Nothing new to me, right? Now, let's test this function. We both need to be touching the object," Rodney told him. "Otherwise it may think that I'm attacking you. I might get my arm ripped off when you dematerialize. Ha ha." He spoke quickly, not letting any time for John to get in a word. McKay grasped John by the wrist, holding his hand still so that he could touch the device, too. "We must be certain that we focus on the same thing," he continued at a rapid pace. "That black mark on the floor should do fine. Do you see it?

"Yeah," Sheppard responded, finally getting a chance to speak.

"Okay. I'll end up standing to the left. You focus on materializing on the right," McKay decided.

"Fine."

"Remember, you're on the right. I'm on the left."

"Gotcha."

"Your right."

"Okay."

"To clarify, your right as you're facing it. We'll be facing in the same direction as we're currently…"

"I got it, McKay."

"Let's do it!"

Okay, Sheppard thought. McKay seemed to be dealing with the whole 'letter' thing okay – kinda.

"Let's do this!" McKay repeated impatiently.

"Here we go," Sheppard stated, "One… Two… Three…" And John focused on ending up just to the right of the black mark as he pressed down on the disks. The whooshing sensation returned. It was an exhilarating sensation, like flying… like falling.

In the beat of a heart, he had moved ten feet up the hallway, to the right side of the mark. He staggered for a moment, strangely off balanced. "What the…?" His arm, that had been supported a moment ago, was free.

He spun around on the deck. "McKay?" he called. "McKay?"

"Rodney?" he shouted, but there was no answer. He was alone in the hallway.

 

PART 4: OATMEAL

"McKay?" Sheppard ducked into the bathroom he had vacated moments before, scanned it quickly and dove back out. "McKay! Where the hell are you?" In the palm of his hand rested the bee. He clenched it tightly as he moved further down the hallway. "McKay!" he shouted, "Stop screwing around!"

There was no response. The only sound that filled the corridor was the gentle lapping of the ocean beyond the railing. "Oh shit," Sheppard muttered as he turned and leaned over the edge, feeling an odd sense of vertigo that never usually assailed him. "McKay!" he called again, gazing down at the tumbling ocean. Nothing moved on its surface except for the foam. "McKay!" he cupped one hand around his mouth, wondering if his voice could carry, wondering if the bee would have allowed McKay to be tossed over the edge.

He felt odd as he stepped back, as if his head were full of mushrooms, or oatmeal, or fudge.

It has a failsafe, Sheppard told himself. It wouldn't let anyone get hurt. It wouldn't have dropped Rodney over the edge. God, that failsafe better work! John lifted his hand and stared at the device in his palm. The bee no longer glowed – it was as plain as any brooch worn by anyone's grandmother. Whatever had powered it before, had apparently failed – or worn out.

Sheppard grabbed at his radio, affixing the earpiece and keyed it on. "McKay!" he called, hoping the scientist's device was on. "McKay, respond!" He couldn't recall if McKay was wearing the radio earlier. Had the scientist left it in the lab again? Goddamn him!

Clutching at the bee, John regarded it – not a flicker of power seemed to arc through it. Still, he tried to press the transparent discs inward, concentrating on finding Rodney – but the disks didn't move -- the whooshing, flying sensation never commenced and he was left alone on the balcony. He slipped it into his breast pocket. Useless.

Sheppard glanced up and down the hallway, waiting – hoping – that Rodney would pop out of one of the nearby doorways – laughing at him about his little joke. That would be just like him, wouldn't it? Smug as a cat, infuriating and superior. Where the hell was he?

No doorways opened. The major moved down the corridor, trying any door that would open – finding only empty, dark spaces – smelling of rooms that had been shut up for too long. He searched for thirty feet in one direction – then thirty feet in the other. But he felt so tired, and moving along the hallway was becoming harder by the moment.

The ocean beyond continued to roll, and empty, dark rooms were all that were yielded. Suddenly, Sheppard leaned against he railing. His head was spinning and his throat felt parched. That thick, oatmeal sensation seemed to be getting worse. "Rodney," he sighed. "Where the hell are you?"

In his ear, the radio chirped, and Sheppard heard, "This is Dr. Weir. What's going on?"

Sheppard groaned, knowing that he'd best let the others know. "I got a problem," he explained. "I've lost McKay."

"Major Sheppard?" Elizabeth's voice returned. Her simply stated question implied volumes.

"He's gone. I can't find him." John blinked, feeling lightheaded and terribly thirsty. The world around him seemed to tilt, and he only managed to mutter a frustrated, "Oh, crap!" before he fell hard on his butt. His teeth clattered painfully.

"John?" Elizabeth called, her voice startled. She started calling to others around her – summoning help, issuing orders. "John?" she called urgently into the radio.

But her voice went fuzzy, and the need to lie down took over. Sheppard let himself slide to one side, and he closed his eye as a terrible weariness overtook him.

 

PART 5: PARADE FLOAT

"Major? Major? Major?" the insistent calling brought Sheppard back from his fog. "Major, I need you to open your eyes and drink this. Major Sheppard? Can ye hear me?"

John squinted, surprised to find himself sitting up. It took a moment to recognize the men on either side of him – Ford and Beckett, holding him upright. "Ah, there ya be," Beckett said with a thankful sigh and shoved a cup at him. "Now, drink up."

Sheppard tried to say something, but his throat felt dry as a desert. He took the proffered cup and took a gulp. 

"All of it, now," Beckett ordered. "You'll need every drop."

Tipping back the glass, John drank down the contents – thirsty as hell.

"That should make you feel a bit better," Beckett confided. "You've gotten rather dehydrated. When was the last time you had something to drink?"

"Lunchtime," Sheppard responded thickly. He turned toward the activity in the hallway, watching as a dozen Marines, and several scientists moved about on their varied missions. "McKay?" he asked.

"Haven't found him," Ford responded, letting Sheppard lean on him. "You said he was missing?"

"Yeah, he's gone."

"How?"

"PPTS," Sheppard responded, trying to pronounce it as an acronym and coming out with a hiss. He nodded to the Life Sign Detector in Beckett's hand, not bothering to call it by its acronym. "That didn't help?"

Beckett looked unhappy. "It doesn't seem to work here, I'm afraid." The CMO held out the device, showing Sheppard the blank screen.

"Crap," Sheppard murmured. Just their luck – if there had to be ONE section of Atlantis that confused the Life Sign Detector, McKay would get lost in the midst of it. "Status?" he asked.

"We arrived a few minutes ago," Ford continued. "Found you passed out on the floor and no sign of McKay."

As Ford talked, Beckett pumped on the bulb of a blood-pressure cuff. Sheppard felt a tightness around his arm. "Getting better," Beckett said with a relieved sigh, as the cuff released. "Really, Major, you must stop getting yourself into such fixes. Your blood pressure was rather low."

"Major Sheppard," Weir called, as she appeared at one side of the corridor.

Making the valiant attempt to stand, Sheppard soon gave it up as a bad idea as his head swam – and then Beckett gave him a jerk to keep him seated. "Dr. Weir," John responded, shaking his head, trying to clear the oatmeal residue.

"What's going on?" She looked perplexed. "Where's Rodney?"

Sheppard let out a low breath. "I don't know. I couldn't find him."

"What happened?" When she squatted to be eye-level with him, Sheppard could see the worry in her eyes.

Fumbling with his pocket for a moment, John grasped the object he was after and held it out for Weir to see.

"It's the bee," Ford declared.

"Bee? Weir responded, taking the device from John. The piece was nicely weighted, striped green and purple with transparent disks on its apparent back.

"Personal Portable Transporter System," John explained. "It can transport someone about 10 meters – through walls, but apparently not into them. So that's a good thing." Wasted, John pulled up his knees and let his forehead rest on them. He felt so woozy. His head ached. "You just need to press down on the wings, think about where you're going… and you're there in an instant."

"Poof?" Ford asked.

"More like a 'shrumph'," John answered gamely.

"Where's Rodney?" Elizabeth repeated, her voice taking on a darker tone.

"I don't know," John responded, getting irritated with the constant questions. "We were messing with it, and…"

"Messing?" Elizabeth furrowed her brow at this description.

"Scientific experimentation," John explained. "He'd discovered that thing could be used to transport more than one person, for rescue missions, escaping … whatever." He felt his hand being drawn back. Two aspirin appeared and he popped them into his mouth without thinking. When a cup of water appeared next, he asked no questions, and sucked it down in one impressive mouthful.

"John…" Elizabeth prompted, while Beckett took his pulse again.

"We were experimenting to see how it would work when transporting two people. It functioned just fine for one … but I think it was running out of power. We tried it with two. I made it … he didn't." Sheppard felt like crap. All he wanted to do was to lie down and let this feeling pass – but he had to find McKay – find out where the hell he'd ended up. "Dead now… the device… the bee… not McKay…" God, I hope not. John closed his eyes, and let his head rest.

"It seems to have taken a lot out of you," Beckett commented, looking concerned.

"I was feeling fine at first, but it seemed to … wear me out the more I used it," Sheppard commented.

Zelenka appeared beside Weir, and made an acquiescent gesture before he took the little device from her. "Hmmm," he muttered as he examined it. "Without anything currently powering it, it is hard to say, but it's possible that it partially runs off your own energy when it's in use." He turned it over in his hands fretfully, his eyes looking owlish under his lenses. "It must take a tremendous amount of power to dematerialize a human body. Once the body is broken down to molecular level, it may be fairly easy for it to harvest what energy it can."

John closed his eyes, feeling that it was highly possible. He felt as if he was ready for hibernation.

Weir took the little device from Zelenka's hands. "Harvests energy? Like a Wraith?" she asked, anxiously.

Zelenka held up his hands. "I couldn't say without further research. I would need to run tests before I could even begin to answer that question."

"Major?" Weir's voice brought the Sheppard back to reality.

"It's not like the Wraith," Sheppard decided. "I'm just tired. Very tired."

"And Rodney?" she continued.

"He seemed fine until, you know… he disappeared." Thinking, he rephrased, "He said he was thirsty, and hungry… and light-headed." His frown increased. "He was getting pretty pale, I think. Sweating, too. I thought he was just excited… but…"

"There's a 30 foot limit?" Weir asked.

"10 meters," John clarified. 

"But the power was nearly gone," Zelenka considered, squinting at the device. "It is possible that the device short-circuited or had a power burst. It might have sent him further than 10 meters."

John frowned, his head still on his knees, and wondered if the failsafe had been affected. By the time he lifted his head, Elizabeth and Aiden were standing. Weir was staring off into the ocean. Zelenka had wandered off. A dark-skinned man had arrived, one of the doctors that worked under Dr. Beckett. John could never remember his name – maybe no one had introduced them – anyway, it was too late to ask because he'd seen the man too often now to go about inquiring after a name. 

The man came with a pack of supplies, and handed it to Beckett. "I think I have everything you asked for," the doctor responded smoothly. "How's he doing?"

"Better by the moment. Thank you," Carson responded – and Sheppard bitched to himself when Carson didn't use a name to address his coworker. From the bag, Carson drew a small device. John looked away, watching Weir. He felt a painful stab at one of his fingers and Carson drew a drop of blood, testing it. "Just as I thought," the doctor sighed. "Your blood sugar, Major, is far too low."

The other doctor pulled a bottle of orange juice from the pack, opened it, and handed it to Sheppard. "Drink it," he stated, his voice low and friendly. "It'll help." Sheppard spotted another bottle in the doctor's bag -- apple juice, obviously reserved.

"Thanks," John replied, giving the man a half-hearted smile. He did as he was told, hoping that something would rid him of this awful, sickly feeling. 

"How often did you use this wee bee?" Beckett asked fiddled with his equipment.

"I don't know… six times...seven maybe." The thirstiness hadn't left him yet, but the orange juice and water was helping. John quickly finished the bottle. The dark-skinned doctor dug through the pack, setting up more supplies.

"I take it this device wasn't meant to be used repeatedly?" Beckett considered. "How often had Rodney activated it?"

"He didn't say exactly. Probably a lot," Sheppard responded, and then closed his eyes. "Aw, hell," he muttered. "He's hypoglycemic, isn't he?" Of course he was… hadn't McKay mentioned it whenever he was particularly hungry? The damn bee had messed with their blood sugar… robbed them of moisture… who knew what else had been screwed with.

"Aye," Beckett agreed. "Of course, if he took better care of himself. Ate regularly. Slept. Didn't exist on coffee and..."

But Sheppard was done. With a groan, John shoved against Carson's shoulder. Instead of forcing the major down again, Beckett helped support him – letting John find his feet. The black doctor stood, giving him a hand as well. John nodded a thank you to the unnamed man and staggered a few steps until he could grasp the railing.

Weir turned, giving him a calculating look – probably trying to gauge whether or not he would stay standing. "He wouldn't have fallen into the ocean, would he?" Elizabeth asked quietly.

"I don't think so," Sheppard responded.

Elizabeth nodded. She handed him the little bee, and keyed her radio to order a search by jumper along the base of the floating structure. She gave orders to the searchers that stood around them, letting the group know what she'd learned – that McKay could be literally anywhere in the area -- possibly within 10 meters, possibly beyond. She explained that McKay might not be able to respond. 

John watched the soldiers and civilians moving about, going from room to room, searching cupboards and closets, looking everywhere. He hadn't been able to count them all yet, but there certainly seemed to be a mess of them.

He thought he'd caught sight of Stackhouse and Bates ducking into one of the rooms. Grodin was talking with Zelenka as they moved through a doorway. Everywhere people were calling out, looking for McKay.

A few of the soldiers, noticing he was upright, came to him, looking for direction, but Sheppard felt like crap and didn't think he had the wherewithal to guide a parade float at that moment. Ford stepped up beside him, answering questions, giving orders, taking care of things.

He's a good kid, John thought, a good man.

"Do you think Doctor McKay might have ended up on another floor?" Ford asked, cutting through his haze.

John considered the thought, and then nodded. Yes, McKay very well could have…that would make sense. That was it! "Let's go," John decided and turned to locate a stairway to one of the other levels. Of course! The doctor was probably wandering around just beneath them.

"Zelenka," John called as he came to the room where he'd last seen the scientist.

"Major Sheppard," the Czech returned, turning toward the door. "You want me to accompany you? I'm ready to go."

"No," John returned, grabbing Zelenka's hand and dropping the bee into it. "Fix this."

Zelenka blinked at the device, adjusting his spectacles as he examined it again. "How was Dr. McKay able to activate this?"

"I don't know," Sheppard returned. "Do whatever McKay did. Get it going again."

The doctor fingered the device. "Did he say anything about his research …" and Zelenka fluttered a hand.

"He started to tell me, but didn't get that far." And Sheppard grimaced, thinking that the damn letter was at fault there. Usually McKay couldn't help but show off when he'd figured something out, but, this time, he'd kept shutting himself up. Just this once, couldn't McKay have run off at the lips?

The Czech looked discouraged. "Doctor McKay takes excellent notes, but mostly after the fact. He edits his work far too much. He records successes and omits the failures." And Zelenka scowled, not caring for the careful, concise and flawless documentation. McKay's completed reports were usually a fraction of the length of Zelenka's. "It's best to record everything, the good and the bad. It makes for a better resource."

"Look," Sheppard returned dissatisfiedly. "Just make it work."

"You said the power was drained," the scientist returned. "If there is no power..."

"I don't care what it takes. Do it!" Sheppard barked as he turned, feeling the room spin a bit at the movement. He left the scientist behind and hoped that the bee wouldn't be needed to find McKay … for certainly Rodney was just on one of the neighboring floors.

Someone appeared at his side as John moved down the corridor. A warm hand came under his own, steadying his tottering gait. He wanted to yank his arm away from the intimate touch, until he realized that it was Teyla who touched him.

"We will find him," she assured, slowing his pace.

"If he's hurt…" John stated.

But Teyla held firm, stating, "We will find him." A strange look came over her and she released him and leaned close. "Major, do you think… perhaps…"

"What?" Sheppard returned.

She smiled tightly, as if she were about to mention something unpleasant. "If both of you dematerialized at the same time and only one rematerialized, is it possible that you have been…" and she paused, looking for the right word, meshing her fingers together.

"Oh, just stop right there!" John muttered. "Don't go all Sci-Fi Channel on me. No, we're not merged together or anything creepy like that."

"It's possible," Teyla commented, her eyes flitting about at the uncomfortable line of questioning.

"There's a failsafe. We already found that out, literally, okay? He cannot materialize inside of something … or someone… else. He's not here," John responded sharply, slapping his chest. "I think I'd know it if was sharing my body." Sheppard shook his head sharply and closed his eyes a moment thinking, you in here, Rodney? You better not be. Okay, if you're in here, just speak up, okay? You're not staying though. Can we make that clear? I mean, feel free to relax, it's not like I can kick you out right now, but you're NOT STAYING. You there? No mysterious, disembodied voice answered. Instead of feeling another presence, he was met with a feeling of loneliness and loss. "He's not here," he repeated, softly this time.

Teyla nodded, taking hold of his arm. "It was worth the try," she decided and they moved off to check the other floors.

Weir stayed to keep an eye on the search. Ford, Teyla, Grodin and three soldiers went with Sheppard, to find the nearest staircase. When they reached it, Grodin and the soldiers went up. Sheppard and the others went down.

Sheppard emerged on the lower floor, finding corridor black and cold – lacking the open balcony that would have allowed the daylight to enter. There was no sign that anyone had trespassed there. Sheppard paused, knowing that Atlantis had the habit of 'turning on' whenever anyone entered the spaces. McKay wasn't here. He stood in the doorway, discouraged, while the others waited, trapped behind him in the stairway.

"Major Sheppard," Teyla said softly, touching his shoulder. "We should check in any case," she told him. "Perhaps, he is here, yet not awake."

Sheppard nodded and resolutely stepped forward. The corridor came alive, bringing light to the dim space. He moved toward the spot just under that 10-meter parameter, looking for McKay – not finding him.

The place was empty.

"Doctor McKay?" Ford called, itching to get around Sheppard, but letting the man lead at his stilted pace. "Doctor McKay, are you here?" But the corridor remained cold and quiet – only punctuated by Ford's voice and the sound of their feet upon the walkway.

 

PART 6: TRIPLE LUTZ

McKay let out a low breath as he slowly became aware of the world around him. He ached. His mouth was so dry it almost hurt to breathe through it. His limbs felt heavy and unusable – and his mind buzzed – like a bee, trapped.

Somewhere… something thumped.

He was laying on his back, laying on something terribly uncomfortable. He tried to adjust his position, to move off the metal lumps and budges, but he had no strength.

It took a moment before he could find the power to even open his eyes. Blackness – only blackness. He twisted his head and tried to turn over, finding that simple movement as difficult as a Double-Lutz to a figure skater, no… make that Triple-Lutz. He wouldn't go so far as to call it a 'Quad'. With perseverance, he prevailed. Okay, you're on your stomach – now what? Still only darkness – a blackness so vast it seemed to fill his head. With a weary sigh, he let his overly-heavy head rest again and he closed his eyes.

The pounding continued. He grimaced as his head throbbed along with the noise. He felt jittery – a strange feeling to be coupled with the weariness. He shook.

What the hell had happened? Where was he? How did he get here? If he could only get his mind to cooperate…he might be able to figure this out. He furrowed his brow, trying to force his addled brain to work, to access the archive.

Now, think, McKay… think… What? Where? How? Come on now, you can puzzle this out. You're certainly smart enough. Get that brain working! Where the hell are you? What happened? Instead of finding vast files of information in his cerebrum, he located only a wide-open space – like an abandoned warehouse – with papers blowing in the breeze – and a mouse or two scurrying around on the broken tiling, someone playing a harmonica in the distance. God, this must be what normal people feel like when they try to think.

He frowned, feeling sick… sick and tired and hopeless. Snap out of it! What was the last thing you remember? How was he supposed to think at all with that terrible buzzing in his brain?

The bee – aw yes – the bee. Wonderful device, really. And terribly significant. Just imagine all the benefits that such an instrument could provide them! Think of the possibilities! If he carried something like that, he'd never have to worry about being captured or held against his will. Yes, Mr. Wraith – Steve II, you might think that you've cleverly captured me. But ha-ha! You are wrong! Sorry to disappoint you. Must pop off now – see you later. And in the blink of an eye, he'd be gone.

He'd leave the rescuing aspects of it to Major Sheppard, or Lt. Ford, someone far more valiant. Yes, they were better equipped to handle the heroic aspects of the device. 'Gee, McKay, those poor people have been taken hostage by Steverino and his buddies. What are you going to do about it? You have the device that will save them.' 'Well, I'm going to pass this Personal Portable Transporter System to Major Sheppard here and let him sort it all out.'

Still, it would be better to keep it in hand… just in case anything ever happened to him. Better to be safe than sorry. One must always look out for oneself. Let the rest of them worry about saving lives. 'Do you have that bee, McKay?' 'Bee? What bee? Hmm. Perhaps, I left it in my other jacket.'

I really wish we could get new jackets. I know you've never had any fashion sense, but even you can figure out that beige has never been my best color, and I feel so very… puffy… when I wear that thing. Must consider finding a Planet of Tailors…now where would we find them and what could we trade? Maybe they'd like some cheese… everyone likes cheese…except for Father… said it tasted like mold…mold… like something moldy, unwanted and never quite good enough.

He drifted, listening the thudding and bumping that seemed to be fading… that seemed to be drifting as much as he was. Knock it off! He blinked in the blackness and grasped at the strange flooring beneath him. Come on, you dimwit, you moron… nerd… idiot… think! Think! What the hell happened? Where are you? How did you get here? Why are you alone? Where is everyone? What happened to Sheppard? Is he hurt? You have to fix this. What can you do?

Nothing… not a damn thing. You're rather useless, you know?

No! Stop it! Think… the bee. That's right… the bee. You were experimenting with the device… along with Major Sheppard. Ah yes. Then what happened?

Rodney could feel the sweat running down his face as he contemplated. He felt so awful, so dizzy, sick and anxious. Maybe if he just rested a bit longer… he'd feel better. Both hands twitched incessantly.

Think… the bee… think. The major seemed impressed with it. And Rodney allowed himself a smile. It was an excellent discovery, really. A fine find! And they'd been experimenting with it – trying to figure out how to use its features. Oh! That was it… you were attempting to use it to move two people at once! Yes! Of course. How could you forget that?

But the power was running low. Must have short-circuited somehow – sent me somewhere – not so nice. Where did the Major end up?

Rodney tried to speak, to call out for the major, but his throat felt closed, his tongue seemed to be plastered to the roof of his mouth. "Major?" he croaked, and could hardly catch his breath afterward. Crap… aw crap. Was Major Sheppard here, too? "Major?" he gasped, the word coming out as nothing more than a hoarse whisper… horse whisperer… who'd want to whisper to a horse? He tried to cough, but instead made only a pathetic gasping sound.

He had to find Major Sheppard. If they were both in the same shape… God… you had to find the Major. This is all your fault after all! How do I find him? I can hardly move. Just do it. Look for him! He moved about one shaking arm in the blackness – then the other – then his legs -- trying to come in contact with anything. He found nothing. He was alone.

Squinting into the surrounding area, McKay realized that he wasn't in utter darkness –a sliver of light came in at him from above, about a meter in front of him – just a pinprick – a ghost of light – not enough to see anything – not enough for anything at all.

He lifted his head and gripped at the rippled surface beneath him. Now, if he could just crawl over to that little shaft of light, maybe he could. OW! Ow! Ow! OW!

As he lifted himself enough to attempt a crawl, his head cruelly slammed into the surface above him. He saw stars and closed his eyes -- brightness in the black. Crap, that hurt. Damn it… damn it… crap! It took a moment to get one hand up to gently probe the sore spot on his scalp. Ow.. yes…ow. That hurts… that hurts, too… ow.

When he lifted the hand further, he found a ceiling no more than 10 centimeters above him. The arm dropped beside him, as if weighted. Exhausted and discouraged, he let his head rest on his other arm. Where the hell was he? The space was less than a half-meter high. It was a good thing that he couldn't see, otherwise his claustrophobia would be kicking in. Oh God, I have to get out of here, have to find the Major. What if he's in trouble? How? Think… how did you get here?

We were messing with the bee. Come on, McKay, think about this. Puzzle this out if you want to get out of this mess. What happened? The Major was talking about….

…ah yes… Ford's letter. That damn letter. God, how embarrassing. I should have destroyed it when I discarded it – let it get no further. It was bad enough that Ford had to see the comments, but apparently, Sheppard was privy to it, too. When the major had mentioned the thing….

And Rodney smiled at his own incredible stupidity, pressing his teeth into his arm. Aw crap, I'm a dead man. He recalled the incident, remembered how he'd felt, what he'd thought. Because, when Sheppard had started talking about that damn letter, all Rodney wanted to do… was to get away… to be gone… to simply disappear into the floor.

 

PART 7: COAT HOOK

The search was expanded as it was reasoned that the device might expended its last energy in a burst and McKay much further than the 10 meters. There were parties patrolling throughout the area, on multiple floors, searching everywhere in this otherwise uninhabited portion of Atlantis.

Beckett was worried. What with McKay's intolerance for fluctuations in his blood-sugar and the nasty after-effects of 'too much messing about with things best left alone', Carson had reasoned that Rodney may be in serious trouble if he wasn't found soon. "He's possibly unconscious. If he's awake, he won't be thinking properly and may not be able to move much at all," the good doctor had informed them. "We have to find him… soon."

Sheppard found his strength returning with each moment. As he jogged down one corridor and then another, he kept promising himself that McKay would be just around the next corner, or maybe in the adjacent room, waiting for them, needing help, getting impatient and fussy. They'd find him.

Some doorways refused to open. The ATA gene didn't seem to help. Task forces were assigned to find the secrets to the locks, but so far they'd had no success. If Zelenka only had that damn bee working again, they could explore those hidden rooms.

An adrenalin rush had overtaken the last of his fatigue, keeping the major moving. Coupled with the amount of sugar Beckett had forced on him, Sheppard felt as if he could run all night. Teyla and Ford kept up with him as they moved from floor to floor, room to room.

Two puddle-jumpers patrolled the waves outside Atlantis: one searched the structure, the other was circling in ever widening arcs, watching the sea. Nearly every available person was actively looking. Hell, Teyla even had Halling and the other Athosians searching the coast on the mainland – just in case.

"Where the hell are you?" Sheppard growled. Night was falling… and there'd been no sign of the missing scientist. "Where did you go? What did it do with you?" He searched his head again, wondering if a physicist was hiding somewhere in there – no – just as normal as ever.

Their radios were cracking with communication, people reporting in, giving updates that promised nothing. So far, there'd been no news – no news whatsoever.

"Do you honestly think he got so far?" Ford asked, as they took another turn, bringing them closer into the central hub of the complex. "Wasn't Dr. McKay convinced that it only had a range of 10 meters? He's usually right about things like that."

Sheppard sighed, annoyed with this contradiction. They'd searched every possible space within that radius – up, down and round and round – finding no trace – no sign. "I don't know, Ford," he muttered. "We haven't found him. If he's within that perimeter, then he either went off the edge of the balcony or materialized inside of something solid."

"You'd think we'd see an arm sticking out somewhere if that was the case," Ford said thoughtfully. "Looking like a coat hook or something?"

Teyla shuddered visibly. "That didn't happen," she said earnestly. "Certainly, he is alive."

Ford let out a sad sigh, his face falling as he spoke, "I just feel really bad. One of the last things he ever did was read that letter -- my letter – then he gets transported into a wall."

"He did not get transported into a wall!" Sheppard snapped.

"Then why haven't we found him?" Ford continued, equally annoyed. "We should have gotten to him by now!"

"I don't know," John returned. "And it's about time we find another way." And he picked up his pace – heading toward the main lab.  
PART 8: LAWRENCE WELK

Rodney's movements were tortoise slow. One trembling hand reached out, grasped what he figured was a protected cable, and pulled himself along. His arms were like cooked pasta, and he progressed by inches – making his way toward the sliver of light that found its way into his darkness. He shook. The buzzing hadn't ceased, it continued as an irritating incessant whine.

For all his struggling, he never seemed to be closing on it. He'd rest, trying to stay awake, but he drifted. His head pounded, but the floor above his head no longer rang with footsteps. Whoever had been up there – was now gone. Pity, he thought. Yes, a big fat pity. Big pitiful pity. Pitty-pitty-pitty-pot. Bing tiddle tiddle bong.

He listened, wondering if the racket above him would resume so that he might try pounding for help, wondering if anyone was looking for him – but, after the initial cacophony, the world had gone quiet. Closing his eyes against the wretched ache in his skull, McKay wanted to laugh at his predicament – stuck between floors -- but his throat was too dry, and he felt too damn tired to even try.

Where was Major Sheppard? Rodney had continued searching the area, reaching around, trying to come in contact with another body in the black space, but there'd been no one there to keep him company. Apparently Sheppard made it through the transportation correctly – hadn't had a stray and utterly ill-timed run-in with a ridiculous allegory. Of course I'd end up stuck inside the floor. Why couldn't I have thought of something a bit more comfortable? Like I'd really rather be in Honolulu… or Russia… or Antarctica even. 

And he sighed, thinking about how everyone on that frozen continent must have hated him. McKay knew that he was an arrogant bastard. It wasn't as if he disguised the fact that he was mentally superior to everyone. Was he supposed to hide his light under a bushel basket? People regarded his importance with undisguised irritation, disgust… hatred. It was no surprise really. He expected it. He'd lived with that disparagement his entire life.

But… he'd rather liked Lt. Roger Murphy… Dodge… Rodger Dodger. Murphy was everyone's pal, and Rodney had felt rather pleased that he'd formed a bond with the young lieutenant. Finally, he was with the 'in-crowd'! Not forever the outsider.

Well, Murphy made his feelings clear to Lt. Ford. Why am I always so stupid when it comes to understanding people? 

McKay rather liked the Major, too, and Lt. Ford and Teyla and Weir. He wondered what they said behind his back. Did they barely put up with him? Just kept him around so that he could solve problems? He wondered what they were saying right now. Good riddance? Their lives certainly became more pleasant.

Yet, he'd been happy – with these 'friends': Ford, Teyla, Sheppard – it felt good to work with them. He'd felt 'connected', as if he was part of something bigger -- bigger than just McKay and his over-inflated ego. It felt good to work with them -- fun even. Together – they felt like a team. Was he wrong about them as well? 

He liked Weir and her style of management – she had a tough job, but was excelling at it. He liked Grodin, too… and Zelenka. He'd liked working with them – same as he'd liked working with Murphy.

Perhaps they were all having a bit of a celebration now, glad to have finally rid the lab of the brilliant and self-important McKay – that arrogant bastard. 

Why am I such an idiot when it came to things like this? He smiled humorlessly, imagining a party currently in full swing. Everyone would be there. Streamers and balloons, and Lawrence Welk with his orchestra and his 'champaign' tunes. Bubbles everywhere. Lawrence Welk… that just goes to show how out of touch you are. Well, maybe Dick Clark instead. He wracked his brain, trying to think of a more 'current' celebrity but came up short. It didn't matter anyways.

McKay lay his head on his arms again, too tired to continue forward. He kept his eyes closed and let out a slow breath, feeling the empty world spin around him, trembling still. Why did I have to empty my pockets of all my gear before I started this? Yes… well… you didn't want any of it damaged during the testing… but why couldn't I have kept the radio? Or a few Power Bars at least? And his stomach growled discontentedly as he thought of food. That was his biggest mistake. He usually planned so well for snacks. What he wouldn't give for a Power Bar at that moment – or a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup – or one of those big cookies that they had in the commissary back in Antarctica -- the ones with the big chocolate bits in them. 

A nice tub of popcorn would be good now… cheese corn… no… wait… SmartFood Cheese Popcorn. Love that SmartFood. Makes your hands a mess, but there's nothing like it. Cheese… everyone loves cheese. Well, not everyone…

He knew he was in trouble. And he was thirsty as hell. This was not good – not good at all. His thoughts drifted too often, too far. He couldn't concentrate. He had to think though – if he wanted to survive this.

He had to find a way out.

Time to get moving again… and he pressed his hands against the floor and forced himself onward.

 

PART 9: STIR CRAZY

"Zelenka," Sheppard snapped as he strode into the lab.

The scientist leaped to his feet, his hair wild and his eyes large. "Major," he returned, fixing a smile as he stood beside one of the lit counsels.

"You find out anything yet?" Sheppard asked, as he made his way into the room, Teyla and Ford flanking him.

The smile fell. "No… nothing," the Czech stated dejectedly. He picked up the 'bee' from the examination device he'd been using, and glared at it. "I haven't been able to hit upon the initiation sequence."

"McKay figured it out in less than an hour," Sheppard pointedly stated.

"I'm not McKay," Zelenka returned, a snip to his voice. "And you've depleted the energy source. I'm doing the best I can."

Teyla threw Sheppard a knowing glance and stepped forward. "We understand that," she said consolingly. "We know you are doing everything you can. Have you made any progress in learning how to use it?"

The Czech shook his head abruptly, making his frazzled hair fluff about him. "I've tried every method we've used in the past. I can't get it to activate. And nothing will matter if it's out of power." He held the bee, discouraged. "It just won't give up its secrets. You haven't found Dr. McKay yet?" he asked.

Sheppard made a disgusted sound as he leaned against one of the counters. "No sign of him."

Rubbing the bee in his hand, Zelenka said softly, "I do hope he's all right. He must be hurt somewhere, otherwise he would have made himself known by now. Wherever he is, he must be frantic to be found."

"Damn it!" John exclaimed, feeling that same worry. "If I could just use that transporter, I could focus on him and get to him."

"Do you think that's wise for you, Major?" Zelenka asked. He didn't seem to want to say it, but the scientist spoke anyway. "Dr. McKay may be somewhere dangerous. Your appearance there may just endanger your own life."

"If he's someplace dangerous, then, I damn well better get to him," Sheppard returned, his voice softer than he might have expected.

"I really wish he'd had that personal shield with him," Ford commented, holding his hands stiffly behind his back. "If he had it, we'd know he was all right."

Sheppard paused at this comment, and turned to Zelenka. "Where is it?"

The Czech, still staring at the portable transporter in his hand, looked up at the Major. He gave Sheppard a perplexed look.

"The Personal Shield. Have you seen it lately?"

Zelenka considered this and shook his head.

"What about a re-charger? McKay mentioned something about a re-charging unit." Thank God, Sheppard thought. McKay might have curtailed his babbling, but hadn't been able to restrain himself completely.

The scientist puzzled for a moment, then set the bee where it had been. "I think I know what you're talking about." He strode across the room. "We found a device not too long ago. McKay mentioned that perhaps it was used for revitalizing Ancient Technology, but it seemed unlikely." Determined, Zelenka keyed open the bay where they kept their discovered-but-not-yet-quite-understood Ancient devices.

He opened the door to reveal dozens of objects, from mechanisms as small as the bee to others the size of a breadbox. Widgets, do-dads and gadgets of all manner crowded the space. They came in all colors and shapes – blue, green, yellow, rose, purple – tubular, rectangular, spherical, dodecahedron. Lights, handles and buttons augmented them. The stored objects looked like the contents of a toy box.

Muttering as he searched, Zelenka commented, "I am certain it is an oven or incubator. I thought the purpose was a means of heating its contents. Whether to hatch eggs, the sterilization of instruments or heating of food, I couldn't say."

As he rooted around, shoving one device aside and looking for one in particular, Sheppard and the others huddled close. "Dr. McKay thought it might be used for recharging devices," Zelenka continued. "But I thought it was just wishful thinking. His experiments with that theory proved unsuccessful." He frowned as he continued looking. "He just wanted to find a way to power his Personal Shield and…" Disgusted, Zelenka shoved himself away from the bay and stood. "It's not here."

"What's it look like?" Sheppard asked tiredly. Just what he needed – every time he was close to a solution, he got smacked upside the head.

"This size," Zelenka described, holding his hands less than a foot apart. "A clear, removable dome. A black base, flat with four legs. There's a propeller-like mechanism inside the base for agitating the contents to assist with the warming."

"Like a 'Stir Crazy'?" Sheppard asked, getting blank looks from all three. "You know, the popcorn popper? Hot oil? From West Bend? Melt the butter in the little compartment on top. You use the lid as a bowl." John shook his head, annoyed at Czech scientists, Athosians and Americans too young to remember the 'real' popcorn poppers of his youth – before microwave popcorn screwed it all up. 

"Ah," Teyla responded, understanding. "We ate popcorn as we watched your video about Hail Mary."

"It was a football game, and yes, that was popcorn, but it was microwaved. Not the same. He turned to Zelenka and declared, "We'll find it."

The major glanced again at the bee on the counter, wishing he could will it into working. As he looked at it, the thing seemed 'different' somehow. He moved past Zelenka and picked it up. The 'wings' weren't quite right. They were higher on the insect's 'back'.

"What are you doing?" Zelenka asked impatiently as he watched Sheppard jam down on the fragile looking disks.

"Trying to make it work," Sheppard declared. It took more force to move them than it had in the past. His fingers ached with the effort, but the wings did move. For a moment they fit into their previous position, but they stayed in place for only as long as Sheppard shoved them downward. The moment he released the pressure, they moved back to their previous 'wrong' position.

"Please," Zelenka cried. "I'm trying to fix it! If you break it now…"

Sheppard ignored him, trying again – forcing the wings down – and then to pressing them together – as he had to make the transporter work. But, although he could get them down, they would not move inward.

"No power," Sheppard decided. "We have to find that re-charger."

"It's quite possible that it's not a re-charger," Zelenka reminded. "It's most likely a warming device of some sort."

"Could make popcorn, too, but I'm betting that McKay was right on this one."

"It didn't work for the personal shield," Zelenka griped.

"Maybe it wasn't designed for the personal shield." Sheppard clutched the bee in his palm. "Maybe it was made for this."

He lifted his head to McKay's room – the door that accessed the lab. Leave it to McKay to nearly LIVE in the laboratory. He smiled, realizing that if Rodney was trying to recharge that personal shield, there was one likely place for him to be performing the experiment.  
\---------------------  
The state of the room honestly surprised Sheppard. He'd expected Rodney's quarters to be: either stark and bare – or a complete mess. Because, didn't mad scientists go either one way or the other? Clean to the point of absurdity, or a complete disorder to complement a crowded mind? What Sheppard found was a room very much like his own. – enough disorder to make the place looked lived in.

The wall of diplomas and accolades was a little creepy though

The bed had been loosely made – covers pulled up and little more. A jacket was thrown over a chair – a collection of electronic devices were scattered on a small table, apparently emptied from pockets. Sheppard grimaced as he picked up McKay's abandoned radio. He saw no visible personal effects aside from the awards on the wall, but they'd been allowed so few.

There was no time to think about rooting through the doctor's things – they were in search of a 'Stir Crazy'. And there it was, sitting in plain sight on a cabinet, looking like a popcorn popper with a turtle inside.

"That's it?" Ford asked, over his shoulder. "I guess it does look like one of those old fashioned corn-poppers."

"Old fashioned?" Sheppard echoed with a sneer in his voice, as he lifted the lid and pulled out the Personal Shield. He replaced the defunct device with the darkened bee, and then fit the lid back in place.

"How does it work?" Teyla asked, standing just behind his other shoulder.

Sheppard's hands stayed on the domed lid. "I don't know," he responded, looking to Zelenka who stood in Rodney's doorway.

"Try twisting the lid," the scientist suggested gamely. They tried a half dozen things, but nothing activated.

"Damn it," Sheppard growled, tired of disappointment after disappointment. Why did everything have to fail?! This was their chance! Get the bee working again! If the transporter worked, he could focus on Rodney and find him. Without it – without it --- He pushed and pulled and twisted everything he could think of, but the popper didn't pop. It sat there, pooped.

Frustrated to the point of rage, Sheppard grabbed the 'popper' by the handle-like flanges on the base and jerked it from the counter. "Make it work!" he ordered, swinging around to shove it at Zelenka.

He almost collided with Ford in his haste. The soldier stepped back, and stared. "Major," he said softly, his eyes on the popper.

Sheppard, who'd turned his attention on the wide-eyed scientist in the doorway, had to change his focus to the item in his hands – it glowed.

He held the popper, squeezing the flanges tightly, watching as the propeller-like agitator in the base started to spin. The 'bee' levitated and the whole thing glowed a pleasant periwinkle.

Sheppard finally allowed himself to smile. The thing seemed to vibrate in his hands, a gentle little buzz as the agitator whirled and the bee hovered above it – the bee's stripes taking on the merest glow.

Ford and Teyla leaned in, watching in fascination. Zelenka stepped closer, adjusting his glasses and blinking at the sight. The four of them said nothing – finally having a reason to hope.

 

PART 10: HOPSCOTCH

McKay rested on his back. It had taken nearly everything he had to make it this far. Then, after the tremendous effort it took to turn over in that narrow space, he found no further energy. God, he was so unwell. His head buzzed, his hands felt swollen and heavy. He'd stopped sweating, but was left sticky and miserable. He was so damnably tired, yet could feel his heart hammering in his chest and his mind still buzzed. He couldn't think.

He wanted to stop – he simply wanted to stop working and sleep.

If you let yourself do that, you'll die. No one will find you. You know that, don't you? Who do you think will help you? You got yourself into this mess and you have to be the one to get yourself out. Now, get cracking! Oh, but he felt so sick – so exhausted.

Oh, I don't want to die here. Please, don't let me die here. No one will know… no one would ever find me. They'd just think that one corridor smelled unusually gamey for a while. Maybe they'll shut down this wing until the stench clears. Then they'll find an odd mummy, clothed in polyester, jammed in between the floors when they remodel in the next 100 years, and they'll wonder how the hell that got there.

Stop it! This isn't doing you any good. Think!

But it's so hard… so hard to form any coherent thought. Do it!

And he opened his eyes to blink up at that tiny shaft of light – a pinprick – that looked like the aperture in a pinhole camera.

He'd read about homemade cameras in a book when he was seven, or six or five -- and had set about making one on his own – had constructed it out of materials he'd found around the house – a coffee can, a plastic lid (meticulously painted black), a flap made from thick, dark paper, hinged with heavy tape, a hole punched through a bit of tin and painstakingly smoothed to ensure a sharp image. He'd even made a viewfinder out of a piece of wire, secured to the top of the can. The instructions said it wasn't necessary – but it completed the project.

Carefully, diligently, he'd followed the instructions, loading the film in a dark room, sealing the device so no light could enter. He'd considered that he might want to be a photographer – posing subjects, adjusting lighting, making everything perfect. He'd tried to use his parents as subjects, but they were too busy of course – they had no time for such foolishness, and their animosity toward each other had risen to the point that they'd hardly stand to be in the same room together anymore – let alone pose for a photo. That was his fault of course – somehow it was always his fault.

McKay remembered the professional photographs that the family had attempted. He recalled the car trip to the studio, sitting in the back seat with his sister -- she in a pretty dress that she was constantly plucking at -- he in a stiff suit -- his parents bickering the whole way. Yes, his mother and father were doing this for the benefit of their children, of course, and let them know about it. The photographer would try to cajole them into relaxed poses, to smile, to laugh, to (at least) not grit their teeth… but it always ended up the same – four people with tight, counterfeit smiles, stiffly positioned, and wanting to get the hell out of there. "Now that's a happy family!" the photographer would say, grinning stupidly, hoping that he wouldn't get blamed for the result of his work.

They'd given up on that sham when he was twelve, or ten, or nine. He just couldn't recall exactly when. You should know! You should know everything! You have to know everything!

Why hadn't his parents divorced sooner -- like every other family? Why had it taken them SO LONG to realize that living together was torture… and not only for themselves? They stayed together on account of the children -- mostly because of their children -- and had told him so – often. He'd done everything he could think of to make them 'like' each other – he'd been so 'good' most of the time – to keep things calm and easy.

He'd learned the piano partly to please them – because they both found some enjoyment in listening to classical music. In his childish mind, he had created a fantasy – if he could only play the piano well enough, he might be able to make everyone happy. He'd imagined a scene – a boy playing a piano – a husband and wife, smiling and serene, lovingly watching their progeny, lovingly listening, lovingly loving each other. A sister who actually liked him, and wasn't constantly at odds with him.

But he wasn't good enough… 

God, why are you even thinking about that? He snickered softly, wondering how he could be thinking of anything. His mind, that had always been so dutiful to his commands, was off playing hopscotch somewhere. Get working again…Reach your goal – escape!

Aw, what's the point? You're trapped. There's no way out. You're never getting out. You're doomed. What does it matter in any case? You might as well just let yourself sleep. Get it over with. Give up.

But that's not like me…

You gave up on the piano… on being a photographer… what else?

Not this… I won't give up on this.

He could hardly find the strength to open his eyes, to stare up at the tiny pinprick of light that came down on him… pinprick…pinhole camera… that's right. That's what he was thinking about – the coffee-can-camera.

Unable to use his family as subjects, he'd carefully staged little still-lifes and landscapes, trying to get the lighting just right – because there'd be no flash to illuminate the scene. He'd never been creative, and had photographed little more than fruit and coffee cups, and an empty backyard. He could set it all up perfectly.

The photos didn't come out…or at least they were never developed. His parents had seen no point to the silly endeavor when they had a perfectly good Nikon, with three different lenses – never used. The painstakingly-constructed, homemade camera had gone into the trash, along with the exposed film – the family portraits eventually followed.

Stop it! You must concentrate! Get yourself out of here! How? Through that little hole? Come on now… think. What could possibly fit through there? It's little wider than a needle. There has to be a way. Figure it out… it's what you do… you always figure things out. You have to… they count on you… to figure things out.

They need you.

And Rodney stared at the little hole, and then let out a sad gasp when the light dimmed and went out.  
Now, he had to wait for the light to return.

 

PART 11: BLUE

Frustrated, Sheppard made his way back to the corridor – the balcony where McKay had disappeared. The lights had turned off while they were gone – they came back on as he walked along. Finding the place dark had disturbed Sheppard. Had they abandoned this area already? Had they already given up on continuing to checking within that 10-meter radius? He knew that there were personnel on the neighboring floors, but why hadn't anyone stayed here?

The recharging of the 'bee' was taking far too long. The popper didn't need to be held throughout the procedure, they'd discovered. Zelenka would monitor it, but the transporter hadn't yet reached its previous luster, and after the fiasco of using the partially-charged device, Sheppard conceded that it would be best to wait a bit longer. Ford would bring the bee to him once Zelenka relinquished it. Teyla was with Weir, talking leader-to-leader, discussing what their next moves might be. Sheppard was alone again.

Not knowing where else to go, Sheppard went back to where this started. He passed rooms that displayed their ransacked contents, where teams had searched through every possible space – and had come up empty-handed.

10 meters – McKay had insisted that the range of the device was only 10 meters. So why had they strayed so far from that limit? Because they'd searched everywhere already – they'd checked every possible place within that limit, hadn't they?

It was late – very late. Sheppard gazed out across the ocean as he walked. A gentle breeze blew past him, comforting and cool. It looked as if the sky was beginning to lighten in the east, and he checked his watch – morning was nearly upon them. He and most of Atlantis had been up all night – searching.

He trod onward, his feet falling heavily with his discouragement. Why hadn't they found McKay? The only explanation was that he was dead. Otherwise they would have found him by now, or Rodney would have made his presence known somehow. Sheppard sighed. He didn't want think that McKay was dead. He didn't want to do this without the physicist. Sure, the doctor was a pain in the ass at times, but weren't they all?

Okay… maybe McKay irritated more often than others… but Sheppard liked him -- honestly liked him. There was something exciting about being around such genius. It was like watching lightning. But it wasn't just that McKay was as smart as hell … Sheppard just liked him, liked exchanging barbs with him, liked his sense of humor, liked having him around.

The thought that he'd never see McKay again, made Sheppard feel like crap. Already, Sheppard missed him.

He'd failed McKay. Yesterday, he'd gone looking for Rodney, wanting to make him feel better about that damn letter – and this was what come of it.

10 meters – Rodney really should have been within those ten meters. But he wasn't. They'd searched everywhere. If McKay wasn't in Atlantis… John gazed out into the black surf and hoped for a better answer.

That's what he needed – a better answer. But where was the Answer Man?

Wearily, Sheppard stopped his slow walk, just beside that black mark on the floor – where they were BOTH supposed to have appeared, safe and sound. He leaned against the railing and stared at the floor. "Where the hell are you, McKay?" he asked for the umpteenth time. "What happened to you? Why can't I find you? What's the answer?" He let himself slide down, to sit on the flooring.

He closed his eyes, resting his head against the half-wall. Frustrated, he tried again, calling inwardly, Are you in here, Rodney? Come on… if you're in my brain somewhere, you'd better come out and say it because we've been looking everywhere. Been missing your sorry ass. It'd be a real kicker if you were so close all the time. I know it isn't quite as orderly in there as you're used to, but you shouldn't be THAT offended. So, come on … ah hell, who my kidding. He's not here. I know that.

He thought he heard a thump… a muffled pounding. Perhaps someone was still in the area, looking.

He opened his eyes and stared out over the walkway, looking at nothing in particular, crossing his arms across his chest as if he was cold, although the barrier protected the space from the wind. Why couldn't he find Rodney? What had they missed? Where had they neglected to look?

And he cringed as he remembered the image Ford had created – McKay transported into a wall – half formed into a solid object, an arm or leg sticking out. It didn't happen! Sheppard reminded himself. There was a failsafe! McKay didn't get himself into a wall or the ceiling or the floor!

There was that thumping again… seeming far away, yet close at the same time.

John's unfocused eyes suddenly shifted as something flitted about in the corners of his perception. A bit of fluff caught in the breeze, no doubt. He tried to find what had gained his attention, needing something to focus on. He frowned at his inability to find the thing.

It must have been his imagination.

But no… there it was again. Something shifted. There was a trace of blue against the white floor. Sheppard leaned forward, crouching on hands and knees, determined to be able to solve SOMETHING today – even if it was to just catch the bit of litter and throw it into the proper trash receptacle. Now where…?

There again, something blue and very fine flopped about. Sheppard leaned closer, ready to snatch up the debris, but it was so hard to focus on the fiber. The thread flounced about in the wind, but there was no wind so near the floor.

Puzzled, John leaned closer – squinting at the thread that didn't move away from its spot, though it continued to flick one way and then the other. It was anchored somehow.

Slowly, he reached for it, taking a couple attempts to capture the moving figment. It was frayed, frazzled, the filaments, twisted apart. He grasped it between thumb and forefinger, holding it tightly as it tried to twist out of his grasp. He tugged it, lightly. Something tugged back. He pulled harder and it came away in his hand – plucked from some tiny pinhole in the floor.

He squeezed on the bit of frayed thread. It felt like plastic, like polyester. It was dusty blue … like the shirts that the scientists wore.

For a moment, Sheppard's heart seemed to stop. "Oh, for the love of…" he exclaimed as he reached for his radio. "I've found him!" he shouted – much louder than necessary. "I found him!"

The channel burst with activity, people excitedly responding to his announcement, but John didn't listen as he leaned to the floor, trying to find that hole… that tiny little pinhole that had produced the thread. Damn it! Too small to find.

"McKay!" he cried, thumping with one fist. "McKay! Answer me! Goddamn it!" He held his breath, turning off the radio, and listened. Rodney was down there – he had to be.

But Sheppard received no response – not even a tiny tick to show that he'd been heard. "Come on, Rodney," he whispered. "I know that was you… I know it…"

But there was nothing… just the sound of the ocean.

John leaned back, still holding the bit of blue thread. McKay was there! Sheppard had no doubts. God, how were they going to get him out? He turned on the radio again, in time to hear Weir's voice call him over the radio, asking: where… how… what?

Grimacing at his own stupidity, his own inability to have figured this out sooner, Sheppard uttered, "He's in the goddamn floor. He's been right here the whole time!"

 

PART 12: CAMEL

McKay had considered the possibilities – trying to muster a plan, but nothing would come to him. He had no tools, no light, no brain to speak of. Perhaps, if he could see the wiring around him, he might have stood a chance at MacGyvering something fantastic, but all his attempts to claw at the tubes had been fruitless. Whoever designed the space had done a good job – it wasn't going to be easily damaged.

So he did the only thing he could think of – rather lame, really. Not up to his normal standards, but his resources were rather low at that moment. Besides, the hole was so damn small, it wasn't as if he had many choices. He doubted that he could have forced much through it. He'd managed to work a length of thread out of the cuff of his sleeve – cautiously – careful not to break the fine fiber. Then he worried it, trying to turn the single slim piece into something bigger – something that might be seen. Painstakingly, he'd compressed it again, and eased it through that little hole in his roof. It had been difficult to hold his arms in that position, to lift them, to keep those trembling limbs still while he worked. He felt so heavy, so tired, so stupid. At times, the task was like trying to force a camel through the eye of a needle. He'd manage it, he promised himself. He was a meticulous person after all – but this simple task was almost beyond him.

He'd rested when he completed that task … and waited… waited for the sound of someone walking above. How long would it take? It might take days -- the corridor was rarely used.

Why would anyone pass this way?

He drifted again, trying to concentrate, knowing that he was failing… that he was fading. He wasn't going to last much longer – not like this.

He tried to concentrate – on anything – to keep his mind awake. He imagined empty backyards, Smartfood, balloons, polyester mummies and grinning photographers, macaroni and cheese MREs, and Lawrence Welk waggling his baton. He saw Antarctica with its endless wasteland, and camels slipping through needle eyes and walking through an eternal desert. He blinked in the darkness, trying to see the thread in the tiny hole above his head, knowing it was there.

And then it came – the muffled clomping of someone walking just above his head. At first, he thought it was merely the camel, coming closer, wending its way through an empty desert – toward nowhere – to nothing. He could see it clearly in his minds-eye.

He listened… closer. There was light again!

… someone was coming. He wanted to shout out, but his throat ached and tongue was too thick in his mouth. He gripped the little string with one hand and tried to pound with the other, but the ceiling – crisscrossed with protected wires and tubes – left him no surface to get a clean whack at it. Besides, the quality of sound coming from the feet above was muted, as if some sort of insulation rested between them. Would anyone even hear?

He couldn't yell. He couldn't pound. He'd have to trust a tiny, unraveled thread to catch someone's eye. He had to hope that whoever walked above him – would pause.

Please…

And then the tramping stopped just above him, and he released a sigh. Here was his chance!

Placing all of his hope in one basket, he twisted the thread. Please… With his other hand, he slammed a fist against the tubing above him – knowing the sound wouldn't reach anyone – but he had to try.

See it! Come on already! Just look down. It's as plain as day! I mean, who wouldn't notice a little thread dancing on the flooring?

Unable to hold both hands above him anymore, he let one drop, still hanging to the filament with the other. God, his head hurt – it buzzed and throbbed. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was useless by this point. You know, this is ridiculous. No one will see the little thing. This is useless… worthless… pointless. But still he tried, waving around that little piece of nothing…even though his arm burned with the effort and his fingers ached. Please…

And then he felt resistance. Oh no! You got it stuck! You've ruined everything! It was your only hope! He pulled it back – but the thread slipped from his fingers.

NO! No! No no no no… oh no…

He tried to find the string again, but it was gone…

Oh God! He had to get another thread, work one out of his other cuff… but why? Why. What was the point? By the time he'd managed that, this person would have moved on. No one would have seen it anyway. Why'd you even try it? Do you have any idea how ridiculous you are? What a fool… what a godforsaken fool.

Even the light went away, as if something blocked it the hole… totally, finally.

With a miserable sigh, McKay let his hand drop to his chest. He closed his eyes, letting himself succumb to the blackness that had been pulling at him for so long. Above him, his ceiling rang with a sudden violence and he thought, perhaps, he heard someone call his name.

But… at least… the buzzing finally went away.

 

PART 13: UNCOMFORTABLE READINGS

"Come on, Rodney, I know that was you," Sheppard called, kneeling on the floor, near that black mark. "Make a sound… come on… make a sound." And he closed his eyes, listening.

There was a thumping, a clatter, and Sheppard held his breath, hoping… but the noise grew louder, coming toward him and he lifted his head to see a small army running toward him.

Beckett and Grodin were in the lead – both carried a case, one medical and the other technical. Teyla was outpacing them, nearly flying down the corridor. Marines were with them, along with Weir, pushing her way forward from behind.

"They're here," Sheppard whispered. "We'll get you out of there. I promise." And he patted the floor as if he could comfort the man beneath it.

Most stopped a few feet from him, looking in disbelief as Sheppard crouched, as if they were afraid to stand on that portion of the walkway. Teyla came all the way, kneeling beside him. She gave him a hopeful look, and squeezed his arm.

"Is he all right?" Weir asked, as she stared apprehensively at the floor.

"I don't know," Sheppard answered truthfully. "He was awake enough to send out an SOS. He flagged me down."

"Flagged you down?" Teyla asked, confused by the terminology.

Sheppard unclenched one hand, showing her the length of unraveled blue thread.

Teyla took it from him, looking curiously at the bit of string. "That is the flag?"

"Yeah," Sheppard responded, letting himself grin. "What was he thinking?"

Grodin had squatted down not far from them, opening his case and pulling out a gadget or two. He shook his head, asking, "Why didn't we think of it? We should have considered the floors."

"Because we dinnet think the balmy fool would get himself in there, did we now?" Beckett responded with a huff, crouching down beside Sheppard. "You really believe he's in there?" 

Sheppard nodded, convinced, sure of this as he was sure of anything – which wasn't much.

"But there can't be much room, can there?" Beckett asked, his voice filled with wonder. Sheppard had no response for him.

Others were arriving, the maintenance crew. 

Teyla said nothing, she reached out one hand to gently touch the floor near Sheppard.

John looked up at the maintenance crew, and noticed a man with a cordless electric saw. "Hand it over!" he demanded as he reached.

Grodin shot up a hand. "No! Just a moment …wait!" He waved a scanner over the area, frowning. "Wait…" he uttered again.

"What?" Sheppard barked, grabbing the saw. "He's not staying in there another minute."

Grodin shook his head, discontentedly. "There's too much power running through this area. I'm getting … uncomfortable readings." He glanced down at Sheppard. "We can't just cut through this surface… not knowing what's there. There are certainly data cables, water, electricity. We could shut down the power to this entire wing of Atlantis. Who knows what else is down there that can be damaged."

"There's only one 'damaged' thing that I'm worried about at this particular moment, Grodin," Sheppard growled as he gripped the saw. "And I'm getting him out right now."

Looking helpless, Grodin insisted, "But the power… Look, if you cut through the wrong line, it could electrocute you… me… Rodney…" and he let that thought hang.

John's face fell as he held the now useless saw. With a groan he let it rest on one thigh. Damn it…so close… He looked to Teyla, who kept her hand on the floor, her face compassionate and concerned.

Lifting his head to the scientist, Sheppard asked, "Can you figure out where the power cables are? Where can we cut through to get at him?"

Grodin nodded, but didn't look convinced as he swung the device.

The others milled about, waiting for orders, wanting to do something.

"There should be some sort of an access hatch," one of the maintenance crew said. "He must be in a crawlspace."

"So we find the hatch!" Beckett declared.

The milling group seemed suddenly happy to have something to do. They broke off – to search for anything that looked like a door in the flooring.

Sheppard sat back with a sigh. Beckett grabbed his case, and started fiddling through it. He pulled out IV bags– getting set up. John tried not to worry as he watched the amount of material the doctor seemed to think he'd need.

John looked up to Elizabeth who stood with a taut expression. She gave him a smile and said, "He's going to be fine."

Yeah… John thought. But how much longer is this going to take? Rodney had been stuck in the floor for a good part of the day, and all of the night. Sheppard glanced up as the sun crested the horizon – and now it's another day.

He looked up as two more people arrived – Ford, with Zelenka huffing behind him.

"Got it!" Ford announced, holding out the bee. "It's charged!" He reached Sheppard and passed him the bee. "I know it's too late to help, but we got it charged anyway."

Zelenka came to a stop beside Ford, resting his hands on his knees and panting, his hair hanging down over his steamed lenses. "It should work," the Czech huffed. "It is no longer glowing, but I believe it will again, if you were activate it." He stopped to draw in a breath. "We may need to wait until we… can speak to… Dr. McKay to discover how he managed it."

Sheppard stared down at the little device in the palm of his hand. The bee had held such promise when they were using it earlier – it was designed for 'rescue' after all. It could still do some good.

Resolutely, Sheppard adjusted his radio and stated, "I'm going down there."

"But we know where he is," Zelenka told him.

Beckett looked alarmed. "No sense in puttin' both of you in there, now," he proclaimed. "We don't know what sort of trouble is down there and…"

"…and he's down there alone… in that trouble," Sheppard snapped. "Look, I can go down, check out the wiring and tell you where the hell to cut through."

"I'm not sure it's such a good idea," Weir said tentatively. "I don't want anything to happen to you… too. We should find the hatch."

"I have to see if he's okay." Scowling, Sheppard changed his position, laying down on his belly – thinking that if the space was tight, he'd might as well get horizontal. Teyla touched his arm, smiling gratefully at his actions, and moved out of his way. Ford gave him a tight nod, looking pleased, and handed him a flashlight.

Weir watched without speaking, and then when Sheppard looked up, she declared, "Do it!"

The bee's wings were wrong – they were higher than before. But Sheppard knew what to do. McKay had figured it out earlier… the wings needed to be fit into a lower position to put the device into a 'ready' mode. He pushed down, and instead of resistance, the disks clicked into place…and the stripes began to glow again. He glanced up at the others, long enough to see the encouraging looks, and then he pressed in on the disks, thinking about McKay and wanting to find him.

 

PART 14: ROLLING PINS AND PYTHONS

There was that odd, exhilarating sensation of flying again and a rushing sound filled his ears – then John was plunged into blackness. Oof! Sheppard's head slammed into the ceiling above him as he unintentionally threw back his head at the change. Black… all around him… black. And the floor beneath him was rippled and bumpy – about as uncomfortable as laying on a bed of rolling pins and pythons.

"McKay?" There was no answer. "Rodney!" Nothing. Damn it! Sheppard blinked, trying to clear his vision, but the darkness remained. Blindly fitting the 'bee' into his pocket, he snapped on the flashlight that Ford had given him.

The light cut through the blackness, illuminating a narrow space and an impossibly long corridor of tubes, cables and ducts, on ceiling and floor, spanning the length of this particular arm of Atlantis. He swung the light around – not interested. The beam struck a head of hair, just inches away.

Thank God… thank God… he'd finally found that irritating son-of-a-bitch.

"Rodney?" Sheppard called softly, reaching out one hand to touch the side of McKay's head. They were laying head to head, and he could hardly see the man. No response. Not even a flinch. John struggled forward, trying to maneuver in the too small space. "Pain in the ass place to get yourself stuck," he commented as he wiggled.

How the hell did the Ancients figure that ANYONE could work in this space? "Rodney?" He positioned himself so that he could see the scientist's slack face.

"God, Rodney, you look awful." It might have just been the light from the flashlight, but Rodney looked pale as a ghost. McKay lay on his back, with his head turned to one side, an arm crossed across his chest, the other at his side. A tiny shaft of light came down at him, like a laser pointer in a lecture. Sheppard tried not to think that the Canadian looked like a corpse, laid out in a coffin. "You really should consider getting yourself a tan or something."

McKay was breathing, slowly – deeply – almost sighing with each breath.

Tentatively, John reached out one hand to touch McKay's neck, finding him cold and his skin tacky. John waited, needing to find a pulse. There it was. John closed his eyes. The pulse seemed weak and far too quick. Damn it…

Weir's voice suddenly sounded on the radio, startling him. "Major Sheppard, report! You just disappeared!"

"Yeah, that was kind of the idea."

"Well, you rather startled all of us. Did you find him?"

"Yes, yes! He's here!" Sheppard returned, irritated. Didn't he already tell them that Rodney would be here?

"How is he?" That was Beckett.

"He's unconscious," Sheppard replied testily.

"He's not stuck inside anything is he?" That was Ford.

"No, he's not stuck in anything," Sheppard declared, moving the light about to make sure. It was hard to see all the way around the scientist, considering their positions, but as Sheppard waved the light around one side of the physicist, and then the other. It looked like McKay was free. Thank God for that.

"How's he doing?" Becket's' voice cut through again.

"He looks like crap," Sheppard returned. "He's pale. His breathing seems slow and his pulse is fast."

"Kin you give me a pulse rate?"

"No, I can't give you a rate!" Sheppard shot back. "Just get him out of here, now, or I'll do it myself!" He felt for the bee in his pocket.

"Don't use that thing!" Beckett's response came quickly. "Major, it went wrong last time you tried with two! He can't concentrate on where you're goin'. And what you're tellin' me is that he isn't strong enough for you to do this again. Don't do it! Major, d'you hear me?"

John pulled his hand away from the pocket as if stung by the faux bee. "I hear you," Sheppard responded, knowing Beckett was right. Damn it! If McKay was this sick already, he wouldn't be able to handle another trip.

"Where can we get through the floor?" Grodin this time, sounding anxious – ready to go.

Sheppard swung the light around, leaving his other arm on Rodney, moving from his neck to his shoulder, wrapping the arm protectively around his head. John surveyed the situation quickly, and smiled at a realization. The Ancients didn't make the crawl space wide enough for 'crawling' because they didn't need to. "They've left a whole row open," he spoke into the radio. "About two feet to the left of me. It seems to go the whole length of the corridor. There's nothing on it."

"Where?" That was Ford. "We can't see you, sir."

Sheppard let out an exasperated sigh. Of course, they had no idea of his position. "Stomp your foot, Ford!" he ordered through the radio.

In response, John heard a muffled thump. "You're to my right," Sheppard stated. "Move a couple of feet toward the other side of the corridor, and do it again."

He looked to McKay in commiseration, keeping one hand on him. "We couldn't have heard you in here," he stated aloud. "Could have shouted your lungs out and no one would have heard. Did you shout?" He wondered if McKay had even tried.

The scientist said nothing.

"You sure found a crappy place," Sheppard muttered. "Makes me claustrophobic just being here." And he grimaced, remembering once that McKay told him he suffered from that phobia. "Hell of a place," he muttered. "Fit for bats and maybe those… blind mole rat things. What do you know about those?" he asked, wishing he could get a response. Usually McKay couldn't help but answer a question. Instead, the doctor's slow breathing seemed to hitch.

Sheppard felt suddenly cold. "Don't do that!" he ordered.

He could vaguely hear Aiden moving above him, and then another muted thump. "You're not there yet! Further!" he directed. He kept hold of Rodney, wishing the man wasn't so cold, that he didn't feel so clammy, that his breathing didn't seem so strange. "Come on, Answer Man… just hang on a bit longer." He felt for a pulse again and didn't like what he found. "Can you hurry this up!" he cried into the radio.

"We're doing what we can," Aiden responded, as he moved again and thumped his foot.

"There!" The quality of the 'thump' changed as Ford reached the bare row.

"Do you see a hatch?" that was Grodin talking.

"No, I don't see any goddamn hatch! Just get us the hell out of here!" There was a pause… probably Grodin scanning the area, trying to find exactly where to begin the surgery on the floor. The sound of a saw cutting through the roof above him was the best thing Sheppard had heard all day. He maneuvered closer to McKay, getting between the falling dust and the scientist. "You're almost out of here, Rodney. I swear, we're getting you out."

But McKay gave him no response. He continued to breathe slowly, stopping and starting. "Hurry," Sheppard whispered, watching as light finally knifed its way in, along with the blade. The major cursed, thinking that McKay had been in this blackness for so long – stuck on this uneven and horribly uncomfortable surface. This place wasn't even fit for blind mole rats.

Then, with amazing speed (but not fast enough as far as Sheppard was concerned) the roof peeled back and Ford's head appeared upside-down in the hole. Sheppard's flashlight drew the soldier's attention and he squinted toward them. Aiden grinned.

"We got you," Sheppard whispered to McKay. "You're getting out – now."

 

PART 15: MOUSE

"Major? Major?" for the second time within 24-hours, Sheppard was awakened by a lilting and insistent brogue.

The major squinted and peered up at the doctor. "Carson," he returned, stretching on the comfy chair. He was in Beckett's waiting room – a space that the doctor had set up for just this purpose – a place to sequester visitors when he'd had enough of them. Sheppard had no idea where Beckett had procured the furniture, but it was certainly the most comfortable furnishings on the whole complex.

"If ye want to come in and see him, you can. Just for a minute," The doctor stood with his hands in the pockets of his lab coat, looking terribly tired.

Stiffly, Sheppard peeled himself out of the chair. He didn't remember falling asleep. He just remembered how long it took to extract McKay from that hole. They'd started with such a small, experimental hole that was enlarged twice before it was big enough to actually use. They'd pulled Rodney out first, Sheppard helping to guide him through the opening. By the time Sheppard had gotten himself out – Beckett and the other doctor were already wheeling the astrophysicist away in a gosh-darn hurry. 

Sheppard felt his blood run cold when he heard the dark-skinned doctor shouting, "He's seizing!" and then the gurney disappeared from sight.

John had followed, with the others – and they had been forced to wait here until Beckett could give them some news.

"How is he?" Sheppard asked, unable to read Beckett's weary expression.

The doctor shrugged as he turned and lead the way. "Hangin' in there," he responded.

Sheppard glanced about, surprised to find that he'd been the sole inhabitant of the waiting room. "The others?" he asked. Weir, Teyla and Ford had all accompanied him here.

Beckett answered his question, "They've been and gone. I've sent them to bed. It's where you should be right now, Major."

"Should've woke me up sooner," Sheppard grumbled, keeping at Beckett's heels.

"Aye," the doctor responded. "Thought I'd let you rest a bit more. You've had a busy day."

They moved into the infirmary, toward a curtained off bed. Sheppard always hated this – the surprise behind the curtain. Carson paused, looked at Sheppard as if to prepare him, then pushed back the drape. Sheppard stepped forward and let out a sigh, his eyes on the unmoving inhabitant of the bed. McKay was pale and motionless, with sunken eyes and hair plastered to his head. He looked as if he'd fall to pieces if touched.

"He looks like shit."

"Aye," Beckett replied. "That's not the clinical term, but it's fitting."

Rodney was hooked up to a half dozen different things: oxygen, beeping monitors, IV bags, other bags placed lower on the bed frame. The IV's were attached to his legs instead of his arms where Sheppard would have expected them.

"Couldn't find a vein," Beckett explained, reading his question. "He was pretty much dried out." He tsked as he shook his head. "What with the severity of his dehydration and his hypoglycemic reaction, he wasn't going to last much longer. If you hadn't 'ave found him when you did…" and Beckett trailed off.

Sheppard watched the monitors around the bed, hating them. "Is he going to be okay?"

The doctor shrugged again. "We'll do everything we can for him," he stated. "I'd like to say that he'll be right as rain in a day or so, but there may be complications. I'm tryin' to keep him from shock and any further seizures, and…" Beckett paused to run a hand through his tousled hair. "He's had three since we found him. Then there's the possibility of brain damage."

Sheppard closed his eyes as if pained. God, no… not that.

Beckett continued, "We'll just have to wait it out and hope. He was in a bad way, Major, a really bad way." He glanced to Sheppard, and said, "Now, it's time for you to go to bed. I'll call if anything changes."

"Can I stay here?" Sheppard asked.

Beckett let out a breath. "Now, Major, you need your rest. It'd be best for everyone if you get out of my way and into your own room. We have rules here, you know."

"What'd be best for him?" Sheppard asked, nodding toward McKay. When Beckett offered him no response, Sheppard declared. "I'll stay out of your way and not make a sound."

The Scotsman quietly declared, "You need your rest."

"So do you. When do you sleep?" Sheppard shot back.

"I sleep when I'm able," Beckett replied enigmatically.

"I've had a nap," Sheppard bargained. "Come on, just let me sit with him. He was in that goddamn floor, alone, in the dark …for almost a day. Do you have any idea what that must have been like? And, for Christ's sake, the last thing he needs to do is wake up without anyone near him. If you just let me…"

"All right! All right!" Beckett held up his hands in surrender. "You sit in that chair and stay out of my way." He spoke sternly, "If ye cause me any trouble, I'll have you marched out of here. Don't think I can't."

"Right, right," Sheppard responded, grabbing a chair and shoving it into position beside Rodney's bed. "I'll be quiet as a mouse."

"Mice are loud little buggers," Beckett mumbled. "You ever try t'sleep when a whole family of them are dancin' about your head?"

Sheppard chuckled, wanting to laugh at something as he sat down. "Where've you been sleeping, Carson?"

"Oh," Beckett responded, moving away. "My gram's house is a bit rustic. She's a little addled, but a dear thing. She leaves cheese out for them."

"Everybody loves cheese," Sheppard said as he smiled, but the expression faded as he got a closer look at Rodney. Yeah, 'shit' was the only way to describe that pasty, sickly look. Damn it, McKay, how could this happen? He sat down and prepared himself for a long night – wondering why the chairs within the infirmary had to be so damn uncompromising compared to those in the waiting room.

Beckett returned to Sheppard's side, dropping a blanket on him without saying anything further.

 

PART 16: PRUFROCK  
Let us go then, you and I.  
When the evening is spread out against the sky  
Like a patient etherized upon a table;  
Prufrock. Needed to learn it for that English class. So bored in that class. There was nothing better to do than memorize the thing. "Prufrock" isn't so easy to understand. One has to work a bit to get at what it truly means.

I know that feeling.  
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,  
The muttering retreats  
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels  
Deserted streets… It's all been rather deserted lately, hasn't it? 

Depends on where you've been. Been pretty busy in some places.

All quiet and deserted and empty. Terribly lonely actually. The words create a mood. 

Honestly, it's not the mood I'm looking for.  
And sawdust restaurants with oyster shells:  
Streets that follow like a tedious argument  
Of insidious intent  
Tedious… tedious… tedious. Well, that describes me rather well, doesn't it? One long uninterrupted tedium. I guess that sums me up pretty well.

Not so much.  
To lead you to that overwhelming question…  
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"  
Let us go and make our visit.  
People were always asking me questions, insisting on answers. Why?

Because you're the Answer Man. It's what you do. I think you kinda like it. I like it, too. I like having someone I can count on.

Yes, but it's damn tedious, isn't it? Always having to listen to me run off on some insane subject. I just don't know when to shut up.

Well, yeah, that's sometimes true. But I'll tell you to when it's time to shut your yap. Couple of times now, I wish you'd actually said something.  
In the room the women come and go  
Talking of Michelangelo  
I really wish I had some creativity, could create something magnificent like the Masters… like… well… Michelangelo. I'm not kidding myself of course, no one could match his mastery, but I don't even have the imaginative talent of a five-year-old. I don't have a creative bone in my body. I wish I did. I have no sense of Art.

There's more than one kind of creativity. More than one kind of Art.  
The yellow smoke…  
No, wait… it's the yellow fog…  
Which comes first? Smoke or fog? The lines are so similar…

Does it matter?

Of course it matters! One is right and the other is completely wrong. One comes first. Everything must be done in the correct sequence. If the proper sequence isn't followed in all activities, there may be dire consequences.

You'll figure it out.  
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes  
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes.  
That sounds right. Yes, that's it. That's the right order.

I knew you'd get it.

It goes on for a bit after that about the fog… comparing the fog to a cat. Do you think my cat's okay?

You have a cat?

Well, yes, I just said that, didn't I? 

Hell, how am I supposed to know things like that? 

He likes things done a certain way, and will let you know if it isn't right. He's very particular, but can be so patient. I left him with a neighbor. I left him knowing I might never come back, might never be able to come back and claim him. 

I'm sure the cat's fine. Don't worry about it, okay?

She might give him up to the animal shelter

I don't think she'd do that

Why not? What do you know about her?

I just figure, if you trusted her enough with the cat, she must be a good enough person.

Do you think she'll remember to leave a curtain open? He likes to sit in the window. He was always there, watching when I came home.

Sure… I'm sure she's doing that.  
For I have known them all already, known them all…  
Have known the evenings, mornings and afternoons,  
I have measured out my life coffee spoons;  
I know the voices dying with a dying fall  
Beneath the music of a farther room.  
So how should I presume?  
It seems I've lived my whole life that way – everything carefully measured and categorized. Pointless really. All of it is so pointless.

That's not what I've seen. Time to stop this, okay? 

It wasn't even in the right order, was it? I left out a whole lot of it.

I don't know. I've never heard the poem before.

I just can't remember all of it now. I think I got it all wrong.

It doesn't matter. Can you just let this go?

Of course it matters! It must be perfect. I must remember the entire thing.

Why?

Because I have to know everything, don't I? If I'm wrong, people may be hurt. I have to always be right.

Right now, you just have to quiet down and rest, okay?  
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;  
Am an attendant lord, one who will do  
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,  
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,  
Deferential, glad to be of use,  
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;  
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;  
At times, indeed almost ridiculous –  
Almost, at times, the Fool.  
There, that's my favorite stanza.

I don't know. I didn't care for that one so much

Why?

Well, it didn't really ring true, did it?

I got it wrong then? I can't get it wrong. I must always be right, because if I'm wrong people may die.

Nobody's... oh come on...You really have to stop this.

Why, am I tedious?

For the love of… no, you're not tedious. You're just wearing yourself out. Come on already, your voice is almost gone again. You got to let this be.

But there's so much that needs to be done. There's always... something that needs to be done.

Not right now. Nothing needs to be done. There's nothing for you to solve right now. 

There's always… something… Because if I have nothing to solve, then what good am I?

Damn it! What the hell are you talking about? Okay... Okay, how 'bout this? You can solve all the damn problems you want when you wake up. For right now, just go back to sleep. Okay?

But I have to finish it. I can't… can't leave it… undone.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea  
By sea-girls wreathed …with seaweed red and … and brown  
Till human …

Come on…please?

…Till human voices wake us  
…wake us…

Rodney… don't do this…. Becket, get over here, he's doing it again.

… and we drown.  
"Beckett!"

 

PART 17: NOODLE

He opened his eyes with a start … expecting blackness…and stared out at the brightly lit room. He tried to figure out where the hell he was, but before he could register anything, he heard his name.

"Rodney?"

He turned toward the voice, to see a tired-looking Sheppard sitting beside him, eyebrow arched, looking apprehensive. 

"Hey," Sheppard said.

"Hey," Rodney whispered. Around him, machines beeped.

"Welcome back," John replied, smiling and looking goofy. "How're you feeling?"

He considered a moment before he answered, "Not so good."

"Yeah, well, that figures." Sheppard continued to smile, as if he hadn't heard how McKay had just described his current disposition. 

McKay tiredly registered the tubes and wires that connected him to the devices around him. "What…?" he tried to ask.

"Just stay still, okay?" Sheppard extended one arm and lay it gently on his shoulder.

What did he expect? Rodney thought. It wasn't as if I have any strength to even lift a hand, let alone lunge out of the bed at him. He felt as if he were made from limp noodles, unable to move, hardly able to keep his eyes open.

"Are you going to talk sensibly this time?" the major asked, not moving his hand.

"What?" Rodney responded again, and had to pause to cough. Sheppard's eyes grew concerned as the cough continued. Why did the major look that way? What had happened? What was wrong? Did something need his attention? And here he was, lounging about in bed. "What …?" McKay tried to ask, wanting to know so much, but unable to say anything.

"He's awake, is he?" Carson's voice sounded from somewhere in the room. "Oh, thank goodness."

"Yeah," Sheppard responded. "He's not saying much."

"Quieted has he? Thank goodness for that. As badly dehydrated as he was, I was surprised he'd managed anything at all. Amazing he caused no damage to his throat."

"Hard to keep the man quiet."

Carson chuckled. 

The next thing he knew, Rodney was staring up at the smiling doctor. "Rodney, how're feelin'?"

McKay grimaced, finally stilling his cough and John answered for him, "Not so good."

"Oh, well that's to be expected," Beckett responded glibly. He picked up one of Rodney's arms and pumped on a bulb. McKay felt a blood-pressure cuff constrict around his arm. Now when had that gotten there? Carson took his pulse as he worked. "Much better!" he exclaimed as he let the cuff loose. He gave McKay a pat on the shoulder. "You're lookin' much better, Rodney," the doctor declared. "Almost 100%!"

McKay looked to Sheppard for concurrence. The major gave him an expression that seemed to say he only partially agreed with that assessment. Sheppard had sat back in his chair by that point. Rodney hadn't even noticed that he'd moved.

"You're well on your way to recovery," Beckett continued on. "I've been pumpin' you full of all manner of liquids, but I'd like you to try to drink an ORS." And he moved toward the counter where he'd kept the packets of oral rehydration solution. "Best thing for you, really."

But everything was getting fuzzy again and he couldn't focus.

"McKay?"

He heard Sheppard call his name. The major sounded alarmed, and McKay really wanted to answer him, but he was far too tired to respond and he slipped again into sleep.

 

PART 18: ABOUT THAT LETTER

McKay grimaced as toggled about on the laptop, reading the latest reports from Zelenka and the others. He sighed, wondering how the hell they functioned without him. "Look at this!" he called across the room to Beckett. "They started working on the portable water purification device without me. What were they thinking?"

"Oh, I dunno," Beckett responded without looking up. "Maybe about purifying water… portably?"

With a harrumph, McKay jabbed at a button. "Well, they're going about it totally ass-backwards. Oh! This will never do! Look at the experiments they've set up? Do they honestly think this will show them anything? Beckett! Call Zalonka for me. Get him here right now. I have to set him straight before he wastes any more valuable time."

"For the twentieth time, I'm not calling anyone in the lab," Carson replied with a tired sigh. "And the man's name's 'Zelenka'. You're to rest up and relax. I dunno why I let you have that computer. Soon as you fall asleep, I'm takin' it from you."

"Oh, that's mature," McKay responded petulant, as he reached for the bottle of blue Gatorade and took a swallow. "Well then, I'll hide it and you won't be able to get it. So ha ha on you." He poked at the keys, groaning again. "Look at what Grodin's been up to! My God, is the science department run by chimpanzees in my absence?"

"I wouldn't go around calling your coworkers chimps," Sheppard stated as he strolled into the room.

McKay, momentarily surprised by the major's appearance, rolled his eyes and settled the sports drink on the little table at his side. "I wasn't calling them chimpanzees. Certainly you realize that? I only have the highest respect for my colleagues. Of course they'll never reach my level of understanding, so they need a little extra hand-holding. I was referring to the reports…"

"Which were chimp-like?"

"No," McKay grumbled. "Simply that the manner in which the information recorded here made it appear as if chimpanzees had invaded the… oh, forget it." And he jabbed again at the keyboard. It was jerked from his hands before he could pull up the next report.

"Enough," Sheppard stated holding the laptop above the head of the frustrated astrophysicist.

"Thank you!" Beckett exhaled, stepping quickly across the room and taking the computer away from the major. "Finally!" He shut it down and jammed it into a cabinet, then locked it.

"Wait! That's mine!" McKay called out.

"No, it's not yours. Yours is in your room. That's one of the 'loaner' machines." Sheppard grinned.

"I knew that," McKay shot back. "I can recognize my own laptop."

"Relax, McKay," Sheppard returned, sitting down at the chair beside Rodney's bed. "I just came by to talk to you a bit before Beckett releases you tomorrow." And he glanced to the harried medical doctor, who threw up his hands in exasperation. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I should be out of here and back in the lab," McKay responded bluntly.

"You're not going back to the lab!" Beckett told him. "Tomorrow, you're going to your room, and you're stayin' there until I tell you that you can leave."

"We'll see," McKay replied, and then smiled as he realized something.

"I'll take care of your laptop," Sheppard promised. "Don't want anything to happen to it while you're convalescing. I'll keep it safe."

McKay snorted and folded his arms at his chest. "How am I supposed to relax if I don't have any work to do? With so much that needs to be completed, you can't expect me to just do nothing."

"Better get him temporary quarters," Sheppard said to Beckett. "Consider where he lives."

"Ach," Beckett groaned. "Nearly lives inside the lab. Yes, I'll requisition something for a few days."

"Now see here!" McKay protested. "I'd like to be in my own room, thank you very much."

"We'll fix the room up nice for you," Beckett said with a charming lilt. "You'll see. You'll feel right at home."

"McKay…" Sheppard started and then shook his head. He glanced to Beckett and asked, "Can I talk to him a minute… you know… privately."

Beckett looked relieved. "Have all the time you want. I'm blasted tired. The both of you may like staying up to all hours, but I, for one, am going to get some sleep." He turned toward his quarters, but called to Sheppard before he left, "Ring me if you need me."

Once the door shut, McKay grabbed the Gatorade, took a slug and looked up to Sheppard. The major was giving him a pointed look. "What?"

"He's been doing an awful lot for you," Sheppard stated.

"I know that," McKay responded, his voice suddenly quiet. He swirled the bottle in his hand. "He's been running himself ragged looking after me. I know I'm not the most pleasant patient. I'll make it up to him." McKay ran his free hand over his face, still looking incredibly worn out. "I'd be dead if it wasn't for you. You and Carson. I'll make it up to both of you. I don't know how I can begin to thank you for…"

"You know that nearly every person on this base was looking for you? Teyla even had some of her people patrolling the coast on the mainland."

"You're kidding me."

"Soon as everyone heard something had happened to you – they looked. Everyone was looking for you – non-stop, around the clock."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really."

"Hmm," McKay looked nonplussed as he settled the bottle beside him on the bed. "Well," he finally stated, "I suppose I'm an important commodity. I mean, my brain is something that cannot simply be misplaced and forgotten, right?"

"They weren't looking for your brain," Sheppard stated firmly.

"Well, of course, but what I meant was… they realized the importance of finding me. Think about the sheer number of personnel it would take to replace me. They'd probably require six or seven normal men to equal my brainpower. Anyone with a basic grasp of math could figure out that equation. It would be best to keep me around. Even you should understand…"

"McKay…" Sheppard ground out. "They were looking because they were worried about you. I was worried about you. Goddamn it, Rodney… I was worried." Rodney actually looked shocked by this revelation. Aw hell! It was that goddamn letter again, Sheppard realized. He thinks that everyone is just like that idiot, Roger "Dodge" Murphy. "Listen, about that letter…"

McKay's face fell, then looked pinched and pained, "Oh, not that again. Please, that's what started all this mess."

"It's what put you in the floor?" Sheppard asked, confused by this news.

Rodney just groaned and shook his head.

"Look, he's a jerk, a punk-ass kid, Rodney, that doesn't know his ass-hole from a hole in the ground."

"Well, he obviously had his hand on the pulse of the personnel in Antarctica."

"The hell he did! Goddamn it, McKay, why do you believe shit like that?"

"Because he's right. I'm not good with people. I just can't read them," McKay admitted. "I'm gullible as hell on some matters. I honestly thought the man 'liked' me. I thought he was a friend. You see, I just can't tell if someone is being honestly friendly toward me, or just jerking my chain."

"You don't have to have any doubts about me, Rodney."

McKay paused, narrowing his gaze at the major, not knowing what to think. So he went on, "I'm the foremost authority on the StarGate and Ancient technology. Hey, it's like ABC to me. If it can produce hard evidence, if it if can be measured and relied on… I'm your man…"

"Relied on?"

"But people are … difficult for me."

"Because you can't rely on us?"

"No, no… not that at all." And Rodney grimaced and changed his position in the bed. "Because I can't be relied on."

"Oh, now that's a crock. You're Mr. Reliable. Come on, did you ever play hooky from school? Have you ever called in sick for work?"

McKay waved a hand. "That's not what I'm talking about. I'm just not 'friend' material, okay? I'm the 'Answer Man', yes, that's right. I'm not the 'buddy' or the 'pal', now am I?" McKay's voice rose as he spoke. "I'm the one you seek out when something's broken, the man you want when something perplexing is happening, the guy you go to for long convoluted answers, but who the hell wants that out of a friend?"

"I do," Sheppard returned. "Ford and Teyla wouldn't hesitate to say the same. I'm thinking Weir and Beckett would, too. Zelenka, Grodin, whoever else you want to mention. Heck, they might not want to listen to you all the time… but EVERYONE was looking for you, McKay. Nobody was looking for answers. There was nothing broken. Nothing needed fixing. They just wanted to find you. I wanted to find you. Don't you get it? Not because you're smart as a goddamn super computer, not because you answer every frickin' question anyone ever asks you, not because you can spout Prufrock in your sleep… but because we were so damn worried about you. We thought you were hurt. We knew you were alone and couldn't get to us. We wanted to find you and make sure you were okay."

Not responding, McKay seemed to stare off into space.

"You're our friend, Rodney," John added. "That's all there is to it."

McKay was silent -- a unique situation -- so Sheppard continued. "Ford threw that letter in the crapper, so that should tell you what he thought of it. No one else has read it. He only let me see it because he was so upset about it. The pages are gone, along with everything that was written on them. Forget it. That moron is in another galaxy. You understand what that means, Answer Man?"

Rodney started to speak, but Sheppard cut him off, "It means we thought Rodger Dodger was full of shit and we wanted nothing to do with him. Now, get over it and get better, okay?" He gave McKay a slap on the knee, then leaned closer and said, "The opinion of that jerk means nothing to me, to Ford or to anyone on this base, you got that?"

"Okay," McKay responded tentatively.

"Good," Sheppard said and straightened. "One more thing… a thread?" And John gave McKay a dark look.

"…And…. What's that supposed to mean?"

"I was supposed to see a little thread waving around on the ground?"

"It's all that would fit through the hole," Rodney declared.

"A thread…"

"It was a very small hole and I had nothing else to work with," McKay stated. "And I frayed it so that it would be easier to see! If I'd had my pack, well, I might have fashioned some sort of a homing beacon, or sent up a flare, or tapped into the station's communication system." He looked thoughtful. "If I'd been able to see, it would have been fairly easy to decipher which cable to cut into, then it would only be a matter of finding the right wiring and I would have been able to reach nearly anyone on the base, send out a message in Morse Code or something. Do people still know Morse Code?"

"I'm sure there's a few," John responded. "You've been thinking about this a lot."

"If I had my tools and a light, I would have been out of there in less than a minute."

"And if you weren't so sick that you could hardly think straight…"

"Well, there is that, too…" And Rodney jabbed a finger at Sheppard. "In any case, fishing with that thread did the trick. You saw it!"

The major grinned, realizing that there was no disputing that fact. "Yeah, but that was one hell of a Hail Mary." 

"And you didn't need to transport yourself into the floor, you know," McKay admonished. "Grodin would have figured it out how to find a means into that space."

"Yeah, I did have to do that," John returned. He shook his head, still wondering at how he'd managed to see that little thread – what had made him stop and look? He remembered that dark, cramped, uncomfortable place and didn't want to think about being trapped there for a day. "I wasn't going to leave you there alone."

And he let that thought hang for a moment -- again, Rodney had nothing to say.

Finally, Sheppard stated, "I got to be going. I'll be seein' ya, okay?" He turned to leave, waving over his shoulder as he passed through the doorway.

"Oh, Major?" McKay called after him. When Sheppard turned, Rodney smiled sheepishly. "What did you do with it… the bee? You didn't just… hand it over to Zelenka or Kavanaugh, did you?"

Sheppard smiled and patted his breast pocket. "When you're feeling better, maybe we can try some more experiments. This time, we'll be a little more restrained. Once or twice… maybe three times."

"What if we bring water, a little something to eat?" McKay sat forward in his bed, looking livelier than he had since before this began. "Maybe we can find someone who smuggled in some Smartfood?"

"That's popcorn isn't it?"

"It's only the best snack food you can buy in a bag." And the doctor seemed to be getting some of his color back as he grinned. "Well, there's also the really cheap cheese puffs that they sell on the bottom shelves in the supermarkets. You know, the off-brand, neon-orange ones."

"I'll see what I can round up," Sheppard responded. "Don't know if I can find any more popcorn, but at least I know where we can get a popper." Then, he turned and moved into the hallway and out toward the rest of Atlantis beyond.

McKay watched Sheppard go, actually feeling good about their little discussion, feeling better by the minute. As the door slid shut behind the major, a thought struck Rodney and he frowned about something John had said.

"Prufrock?" he uttered, scratched his head and pondered what the hell Sheppard had meant.

THE END  
The poem used in Part 16 is "The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock", by T.S. Eliot


End file.
